January 6th, 1979

Home again from the holidays, and it’s never felt so good. My last weekend in Missouri brought terrible weather– ice storms and snow. I delayed my trip back one day to wait for the worst to be over. As it was, the trip turned out to be disastrous. What should have been a three hour plane trip turned into a thirty hour ordeal of being stranded in Chicago’s O’Hare airport with the runways paralyzed with a blizzard. 19 below zero. Sadie and I slept in the terminal on the floor. I had left for vacation in a certain state of despair. The constant pressure of work, the basic barrenness of my emotional world, my lack of direction, the seeming impossibility of getting out of debt. My week in Missouri, however, provided me with a better perspective on my life and world here in Washington. So very much is right with my life that it’s wrong for me to harp so incessantly on the parts that I would have otherwise. Chippy and Wendy and I have a very secure environment here in our house– and it is very wrong to not be aware of that and appreciate that. My job, however lacking in career satisfaction for me, is, nonetheless, a good environment for me. Washington has enough elements to keep me interested in it as a city even after 10 years of living here. Oh, still, I long for romance and drama and some basic lifelong sense of security. I would love to be married and in love.

So, my week in Missouri brought me back to my world with a sense of gratitude. And left me with a new feeling of appreciation for Springfield. Throughout my week there, I was very much aware of a deep sense of being “home” again. The familiarity of the city, the lifestyle of the people there, the mentality– all is such a deep rooted part of my being. Springfield is home and it feels very good to be there– even if I choose not to live there.

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Margie’s parents are both dying. Mr. Roberson was diagnosed this past fall having cancer and given an indeterminate number of months, possibly years, to survive. Two weeks ago her mother went into the hospital for gall bladder surgery and was promptly sewn back up. Raging cancer and a diagnosis of perhaps a few weeks to live. I went to visit while I was there. Mike and Mary were there and our reunion after 10 years was muted by the awful fast of Mrs. Roberson lying huddled in a pitiful little heap on the sofa– totally jaundiced, a deep brownish yellow. Mr. Roberson sat hunched over in his chair a few feet from her. Throughout the visit he would occasionally break into tears and sobbing. The great strong imperious man faced with the morality of his whole life all at once. I kissed Mrs. Roberson and told her I knew she would be better soon.