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Show Kathleen Norris Says: Happiness Won by Hard Work Not Luck Bell Syndicate. WNU Features. 1 "Dress your part not expensively, but in those slack and blouse effects that make a small woman of 32 look like a nice boy." By KATHLEEN NORRIS "TT THEN I was 18 I mar-YY mar-YY ried the boy every ' " girl in our town wanted want-ed to marry," writes Catherine Cather-ine Van Orden from a small town near Buffalo. "He was 26, just back-from college, rich and handsome. Girls envied en-vied me and I enjoyed it, as I picked my trousseau and practiced writing my new name. We had a beautiful wedding, 13 years ago. Now we have three children Beverly, Bev-erly, who is 10, Tom, 7, and Shirley, 4. "For a few years Fred and I were ldyllically happy; it was all Paradise. Para-dise. We traveled, we built a lovely house. Severe financial losses because be-cause of his father's bad judgment somewhat curtailed our holidays, and the arrival of babies kept me much at home. Until six years ago, however, I always had a nurse as well as a cook, and although it meant pretty steady work at home for me, too, I knew I was among the lucky women of the world. "When the war began, Fred instantly in-stantly entered the navy, rising to the rank of commander before the war ended. My mother came to live with me, there were no longer servants in the house, and my life became quieter and more domestic than ever. "Then Fred came home, changed. His letters had been all love and homesickness; he had no sooner returned re-turned than it became evident that he had lost interest in us entirely. I don't say entirely, for in certain moods he will question the children, laugh at them, perhaps bring them some little toy he has seen on the streets. But for me he has only absent - minded politeness, bored looks, long silences. We do not quarrel, as we did when he was a spoiled young society favorite and I a spoiled child. I wish we could quarrel now, at least that is living. Now it Is as if he were not here, even when he is at home. He Is Silent and Moody. "I arranged a quiet room for him at the top of the house to save him the children's racket. He occupies it alone. He hardly listens to breakfast-table talk, and is rarely at home ' for dinner. "Of course you will think, 'another 'anoth-er woman.' Perhaps there is one. These vampires who go about in society trying to break up homes like ours are plentiful enough. But I think it is rather a great weariness. weari-ness. Fred needs new friends now, new audience, he needs escape. This little town seems dull and confining to him, and my mother's talk and mine about the children and the table ta-ble probably bores him terribly. "But what can I do to win him back? He doesn't want to go places with me, doesn't want to entertain, isn't interested in old friends. He lives a life apart from us, and it is all the harder because my mother moth-er and I really do have to work hard to keep this big house and this family of six comfortable; it is always a struggle to keep abreast of the children's chil-dren's claims of school, clothes, meals, manners, health, activities. Isn't that my first job? I can't pack them all off to boarding-schools, throw Mother out, buy extravagant clothes and go dancing with Fred again. On the other hand, I simply can't I won't drift so far away from him that we lose each otherl "le listens Dolitelv tn mv arguments. shrugs, goes away. I am becoming maddened with nerves and doubts, do help me if you can!" To this bewildered cry I can only say what I have said in this column col-umn before; as long as you are living liv-ing Fred's life, Catherine, you will Indeed be maddened with nerves and doubts. You are one human being, Fred is another. To make your life a mirror of his or a pale copy of his, to let him know that he has the power to render you completely com-pletely miserable is to hurt yourself, your-self, destroy the very thing you are trying to accomplish, and, moreover, more-over, do him a grave injustice. Make Yourself Interesting. It isn't fair to Fred to burden his homecoming after the four terrible years that have demoralized the entire en-tire world, and expect him to fall quietly into line. Leave Fred alone. Work on yourself. your-self. Make your nervous, dissatisfied, dissatis-fied, unchanged self into something more thrilling. Try experiments in meals out in the garden, or sandwiches sand-wiches taken to the shore. Start table games with the children that will absorb them and you and Grandma, leaving Fred to think that he has a mighty pretty, gay and self-sufficient family, and a pretty pleasant home. Don't give parties, but invite an old friend or two to come in "unexpectedly" now and then; dress your part not expensively, expen-sively, but in those slack-and-blouse effects that make a small woman of 32 look like a nice boy. Never question him, criticize or complain. Don't be Fred's parasite; para-site; be a person in your own right. You had your good times early; the spoiled little beauty who made the big match. Now grow up to yourself your-self in a more sober atmosphere, remembering re-membering what Lowell said so long ago; "earth has its price for what earth gives us." Happiness fought for, and won, is better than the merely "lucky" brand every time. I "Girls envied me, and I enjoyed it. . . ." |