Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

 I started a sketch of a frowning bank of sand, and lost interest sponged it out, and then started a sketch of the scene to the west, where heavy banks of cloud had come up, and obscured all but two sunlit openings, which were like strange spectres [sic] of light – I painted until about complete dark.

After packing my things, I ate my lunch in the twilight. And then drove home on 20 to Lancaster & then south to Clinton.

This P. M.- B – A & I to Buffalo shopping. Lunch at Waldorf.

Nov. 29 – Monday – 

B & I shopping in Buffalo.

The Toy department of the various department stores were a shock to us. No metal or mechanical toys, only wood. But the wooden ones were deplorably lacking in skill or imagination crudely designed and put together, and hardly colored. Perhaps it was unavoidable but somehow I felt we have “let the little children down” – They cannot understand that “there is a war on” – 

Nov. 30 – Tuesday – 

A cryptic letter from Emma about some disaster happening to Martin. While we were wondering about it, Mary called and said he had just died this morning (7:00) from a ruptured appendix. It seems unbelievable.

We plan to go down tomorrow in on an early train –