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Show KATHLEEN NORRIS ! i Look for Happiness "QUR MARRIAGE has be-come be-come a farce," writes Elinor Price from Minneapolis. "But we don't want a divorce. We both love our home and our adopted daughter, Georgette, who is 8. I dread the scandal of a divorce di-vorce and the shock to our child. Paul has none of the usual faults j that lead to separation and I don't i think I have. But we've reached a point of such boredom in our 12 years of marriage that we sometimes some-times hardly can be civil to each other "This eight-room suburban home was his mother's. It has every conveniencewasher, con-veniencewasher, dryer, furnace, lovely garden. Paul works In a bank, belongs to a good club, is admired ad-mired and popular. Georgette is a little dream of beauty and goodness. good-ness. With help three times a week, I can keep my home as neat as wax. "We breakfast at 8. Paul leaves half the paper, touches his cheek to the back of my head, is gone. Georgette gets her milk nickle and lunchbox and goes. Then silence silence. I go to market and look at beaver coats in windows, evening eve-ning frocks in windows, pictures of successful movie stars no older old-er than I. Monotony Moves In "That night Paul sits by his radio and reads his paper. Georgette has her supper and does her homework In bed, as we have to watch her chest In our cold winters. I get dinner, speak to Paul. He puts his paper down, answers. "Sundays we talk vaguely of a picnic or a walk; go to a 4 o'clock movie; think we will drop in at the Wilsons, decide not to, come home. I open the ice box; tell them what's there. What does any- "... sits and reads bis paper . . one want? Paul says quietly that that isn't his idea of supper. I say that if they'll. wait I'll cook a regular reg-ular meal. But I will have to change my clothes, etc. He says that isn't his idea, either. He'll go out for something. Do we want to go downtown? down-town? "Well;" the letter runs on, "either "ei-ther we do or we don't and either way it's a failure. We get a slow waiter, Georgette gets sleepy, the food is expensive and poor. Nobody's No-body's happy. Want To Be Happy "Don't think I'm stupid or spoiled. It's really serious. We both want us to be the busy, happy, contented con-tented people we see about us. We've lost the key. Paul makes pathetic efforts; I make feeble efforts, ef-forts, too. He brings me home a few flowers or I say brightly at dinner, 'Your old favorite cake, Paul.' It all seems to drop flat. How can 1 put life into my marriage? mar-riage? When we first were married, mar-ried, we were very happy; we aren't really unhappy now. Isn't there a cure for this?" You re not stupid or spoiled, Elinor. El-inor. You're suffering from causes buried deep in our way of living. You have what every human heart in the world wants enough food first, then shelter, then clothes, companionship, leisure. beauty. And to find that it isn't enough is the shock that is upsetting the lives of hundreds of women like you. If Paul came home today badly wounded, to be an invalid for life, you would rise to the crisis almost with buoyancy. Caring for him, reassuring re-assuring him, somehow making money, somehow keeping your affairs af-fairs afloat would make a new woman of you. Paul, too, if he were called to help in some calamity, would pull off his coat, take command of younger workers, live to the very utmost of his capacity and glory in it. The cure of your case, Elinor, the secret of brimming, soul-satisfying life is contained in those old words that made so many millions mil-lions of outwardly dull, obscure lives so bright with dancing light. Seek and you will find-But find-But specifically in your case, because be-cause I think it would be just the tonic you need, I am going to recommend rec-ommend to you a cure that worked a miracle for me years ago. Adopt a family without their knowing it. Ask your organized charities for the name of some unfortunate lonely young woman with two or three babies. They'll supply material ma-terial aid; you do the rest. Go every day for five or six hours Make her bed. Gradually get the dark crowded rooms Into order. Have hunch there You'll find miracles all the way alone. |