DIY History | Transcribe | Iowa Women’s Lives: Letters and Diaries | Eve Drewelowe's journals, volumes II-III, 1950s

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Eve Drewelowe's journals, volumes II-III, 1950s

Page 179

that decrees no peace to mortal being. Utterly impossible for men to even try to go back to this environment for it would be quite hopeless to try to continue to survive in the surroundings that were. Equally impossible also to change the inherited constitution that is mine, so that habits of life shall have to be altered. For in the strident efforts of each one trying so energetically to outdo the other, an organism such as I, is forced out of line since the pace cannot be maintained. My soul, moreover requires that priceless thing called time and that equanimity with the need to paint.
In that previous life while I was limping along, even then with a stomach, there clearly were not enough noons and afternoons and evenings to go around for those who descried to entertain - to give those parties that were expected of them or to repay their indebtedness. So mornings naturally became the next inevitable time to be pounced upon and devoured by the carnivorous social octopus. At first, however, occurred only the occasional event. but the summer of 1938, when I was in Rochester, Minnesota for the third periodic going over - the third "rund falet" as is said in Germany of a round-robin sight seeing excursion - a friend wrote me rather amusingly about life at home. 
"We are having regular morning parties now," her letter ran. "We all realized long ago that it had to come for everyone has to have her opportunity and her occasion, and there are far too few days and fractions thereof to accommodate the requirement of such a socially busy community. Forenoon affairs in Boulder really have been unavoidable and we have witnessed signs of their taking over long ago. Now that they have, however, the elasticity of the days has been drawn taut with engagements and bustle."
As a social being, I did not mind doing things - most everything - and even enjoyed the doing when I was able. AT least so I thought. For at one time I was avarious of life and eagerly grasped all there was and cried for more! Now life shall have to seek me out and come to me for I am moving no longer. Fortunately I was the packrat then, that greedily clutched all visible material within its range - all that appeared on

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that decrees no peace to mortal being. Utterly impossible for men to even try to go back to this environment for it would be quite hopeless to try to continue to survive in the surroundings that were. Equally impossible also to change the inherited constitution that is mine, so that habits of life shall have to be altered. For in the strident efforts of each one trying so energetically to outdo the other, an organism such as I, is forced out of line since the pace cannot be maintained. My soul, moreover requires that priceless thing called time and that equanimity with the need to paint. In that previous life while I was limping along, even then with a stomach, there clearly were not enough noons and afternoons and evenings to go around for those who descried to entertain - to give those parties that were expected of them or to repay their indebtedness. So mornings naturally became the next inevitable time to be pounced upon and devoured by the carnivorous social octopus. At first, however, occurred only the occasional event. but the summer of 1938, when I was in Rochester, Minnesota for the third periodic going over - the third "rund falet" as is said in Germany of a round-robin sight seeing excursion - a friend wrote me rather amusingly about life at home. "We are having regular morning parties now," her letter ran. "We all realized long ago that it had to come for everyone has to have her opportunity and her occasion, and there are far too few days and fractions thereof to accommodate the requirement of such a socially busy community. Forenoon affairs in Boulder really have been unavoidable and we have witnessed signs of their taking over long ago. Now that they have, however, the elasticity of the days has been drawn taut with engagements and bustle." As a social being, I did not mind doing things - most everything - and even enjoyed the doing when I was able. AT least so I thought. For at one time I was avarious of life and eagerly grasped all there was and cried for more! Now life shall have to seek me out and come to me for I am moving no longer. Fortunately I was the packrat then, that greedily clutched all visible material within its range - all that appeared on