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“8:05 P.M. August 31st.
August has gone. It is now September. Too hot and tired and restless last night to write so now the first day of Sept. will soon be history. Pat and Rayanna are with us now and will be until Sunday. I am glad they came. I hope they may have a good time and also bring some cheer to Cova and Bethine. I bring cheer to no one; I am always grouchy and morbid and bitter. I am silent, only to my diary do I ever divulge the mass of feeling and thoughts bound up within my soul. Man always thinks himself very powerful, but does not realize what prompts that feeling until he has been left alone. Man can find no greater glory than the pride he may show to his mate. His efforts in her behalf. We live in the world of today, the ages before us serve only as history from which we try to pick the errors and prevent their repetition. But we are very far from the perfection that we hold as our ideal. Life at a glance reveals nothing; we must live its entirety to realize our own mistakes. Generations to come will make our best efforts seem very foolish and futile, ye we can only progress slowly. The speed of the modern age brings nothing but casualties and sadness; we must perish with it unless we curb the urge of such humanity as would like to see the rose burst into bloom within the hour. Ilya toyed skuisya. 8:30 P.M.”
“8:25 P.M. September 2nd,
Cooler this evening and much more enjoyable weather. Rain last night and today for which I am thankful. Perhaps I shall go to sleep soon tonight and perhaps I shall rest well. I never know from the way I feel. Last night I was constipated, tired, hot and exhausted yet seemed more content than usual. I do not know why. To see the clouds come rolling in; the wind blowing and lightening flashing, seems to make me realize again how strange it is and wonder what cause it and why? I long for her little fears to comfort and her little trembles to hold close and quiet but I have nothing, only the longing for them all again and the thought I should be with them now. Man knows nothing of death, only his hope. Ilya toyed skuisya. 8:35 P.M.”
“10:40 P.M. September 3rd,
Saturday night and I shall soon retire. Only anxious for sleep in the hope that again the dreamland will be as dear as the night before. So much more precious it is than any of the realities of life today. From whence do our dreams come? Only from the memory of man. They must always be linked with the past. We know nothing of the future, only as our imagination may picture. Tomorrow her little rose should be in bloom; I can do no more than water it and love its beauty. The stars are very pretty and peaceful tonight. Ilya toyed skuisya. 10:50 P.M.”
“9:45 P.M. September 4th,
It is cool and raining, a relief from the heat of midday. Took Pat home this morning; cared for her roses and came home. The ground was moist from recent rains and the grass so fresh and the roses growing. The bud of last Sunday had blossomed and the petals already fallen; pretty little rose I did not see. I am not especially tired tonight tho I shall be in bed soon. Tried to sleep during the heat of the afternoon but could only find restless naps. I do not know what to do. I can no longer ask my little sweetheart her desires and I have none of my own. I am cold and silent and bitter always, yet long for the one whose love I always cherished and who always made me tender. Nothing remains to soften the hatred within me. I am as defiant as the storm clouds with all their thunder and lightening, only I am quiet. Ilya toyed skuisya. 9:55 P.M.”
(Sally Here: Don’t you just love his quote about the storm clouds!!! John, again you are so amazing.)
“9:35 P.M. September 5th,
Another cool evening with showers after a hot day. I am getting older every day and hoping that I may find the end of the long long trail where all the joy of my life new rests. I can find no peace on earth; nothing to quiet my anxiety, my impatience, because there does not remain the urge of other things to conquer. I have come to the end of man’s earthly ambitions and now I want the great adventure, perhaps it is only everlasting quietude and perhaps it is not, man knows nothing of death, he only hopes. Little boys want to be young men, young men want to be greater, yet never reach the perfection of being or conditions desired. We are always on the way but never arrive. I am tired. Ilya toyed skuisya. 9:50 P.M.”
(Sally here: I just can’t get over how wise this man is!!! His writing blows me away. Is it the grief that brings out his depth??? I wonder….)
“10:10 September 6th,
I must soon be in bed. I am tired and glad that I am; perhaps I can go to sleep soon. Have been working on the little Buick again, trying to make it more powerful and peppy. The work tires me so quickly. Just the ravages of time, and I’ll soon be an old man. I am only nervous and always trying to be busy. The last few days my eye has been twitching and I cannot prevent it. I rather glory in any failing I detect. No doubt man should not look upon life that way and I am sorry that I do but life without my little pal has no purpose; no goal to work for or fight for, only the final moments of life seem my longing. Then we are only hopeful, we can be sure of nothing. Ilya toyed skuisya. 10:25 P.M.”
“10:40 P.M. September 7th,
Again I am tired. Finished working on the Buick so tomorrow night I must find something else, or perhaps I shall need rest. I never know; I never plan a great deal but only follow the mood of the moment. I can only try to keep busy and why should I seek the fortunes men always want? All the money or power in the world would only make me so much the greater sinner, yet I am always busy. Why, and for what goal? I only want that which I have lost; I know not how to regain it; I believe that I may find her again some day among the stars, but I do not know. I only long for the opportunity to try. I have no place on earth, perhaps I belong nowhere. I cannot ever die. Ilya toyed skuisya. 10:50 P.M.”
“10:10 P.M. September 8th,
Rather warm tonight. I’ve been reading nothing that seems very interesting but I read it all. Some line somewhere may give me a thought to keep in my mind and ponder over. So much of man of today I could criticize but for what? It would not make humanity any better. We have our good points and our bad and we follow only the dictates of our own desires; we are seldom truthful and fair. If we make friends we also make enemies. Man in his excuses for discrimination in much of his action seldom speaks the truth; he either disclaims the real motive or shifts his responsibility. He must always satisfy himself and preserve the saintly touch to his modern modes. We are all only cowards. We are all only very meager dots in the universe, yet some have become greatly inflated with their own egotism. I am tired. Ilya toyed skuisya. 10:30 P.M.”
“11:45 P.M. September 9th,
The big round moon again is with us so quiet and bright up in the heavens. Why cannot man know more of it I wonder? So much of life we know nothing of only we live by the opinion of the universe of some who have made it a deep study and have written their beliefs. If it were necessary to life that we know and understand the purpose of the moon, the stars and all the heavens, perhaps man thru his determination and unceasing efforts could find the correct solution of their being. Or perhaps they are only for us to see and ponder over their magnitude and worship whoever is responsible for such glorious creations. I am not tired tonight but very lonely. A drink of wine and I go to bed. The glory of living has ceased. Ilya toyed skuisya. 12:00 M.”
“10:30 P.M. September 10th,
Tomorrow is Sunday so this must be again Saturday night. How bright the moon is tonight and how beautiful; full and round and at the height of its brilliance. Soon it will be growing smaller and fading away. We shall not see it again for a few weeks, but it will come again, it always has. Life comes and ascends to great heights of beauty and grandeur and passes on, but it does not return. It is not like the moon. Why can we not be eternal like the moon? I do not know. Life to me can never become great or very dear, all it promises has been lost. I only glory in the thought that I would like to see with some measure of worthiness in my soul. I am only more of a devil. Ilya toyed skuisya. 10:45 P.M.”
“11:20 P.M. September 11th,
I am tired. It seems warm tonight. We were at Pat’s for lunch and then at Inspiration Point for a sundown lunch. The day has been busy. I am glad for that. I could water her roses and the grass and I am glad for that. The roses do not seem to be growing as they should and I have tried to keep them as best I could. They need some richer soil I believe and I must get it for them. How time flies and how my heart aches more. Soon I shall have no more pages in this book to write upon. I wonder if I shall fill them all? I am so tired and my head does not feel good. Ilya toyed skuisya. 11:30 P.M.”
(Sally here: I always find it so intriguing when a diarist writes about writing in their own diary. For example when John says….
“Soon I shall have no more pages in this book to write upon. I wonder if I shall fill them all?”
The reason I find that so intriguing is because their future becomes my present; I now know the answer to their question. And for a brief magical moment that long invisible cord which connects our hearts seems to disappear, as we, the diarist and the reader, become one. It’s so surreal.”)
“9:45 P.M. September 12th,
Again comes the nervous days, the troublesome thoughts the sleepless hours, the effects of the compelling force which governs the passions of man. It is the law of nature and I am constantly fighting it. Constantly breaking it and trying to believe myself the victor. Man makes laws and punishes those who dare to break them; we break the laws of nature and feel not the penalty which man exacts of his own code. Yet there must always come the day of reckoning. To me, I expect it and rather am anxious for the final judgment and my answer to it all, but it does not come, so I only live on and grow more indignant, more silent and morose. Ilya toyed skuisya. 10:00 P.M.”
(Sally here: You won’t believe how incredible this next passage is….I’ll say it again, what a genius John is)
“9:50 P.M. September 13th,
Out under the moon this evening, clear sky, cool breezes, darkness, the quietude of sleeping hours and the ever restless surge in my being; always searching; always busy; always impatient and anxious for something to happen, and what? I do not know. Each distant whistle of the trains leaving on their long journey seems to be a pleading call to me; each twinkling star seems to beckon; each fleeting moment brings a desire for the days gone by and in it all I can only sit and ponder. No matter how saintly man may think himself or how close to the ruler of Christ’s teaching he may cling, yet his relief is not forthcoming. Only the little mate man has been given can bring peace and restful slumbers. Ilya toyed skuisya. 10:10 P.M.”
“10:20 P.M. September 14th,
Such an old man as I am tonight for I sat down to rest and read for a few moments after supper and soon find myself asleep and I’ve been sleeping ever since; intended to be at work and busy but could not rouse myself to any action. There is no particular reason why I should be so sleepy, or tired, so I can only credit it to age. I am a day older, I am thankful. Nothing may ease the conscience of man so greatly as being truthful. That must be our greatest virtue. No matter how much of religion we may have or how greatly we may worship God in any form, or in any way demanded by religion of today, unless we are truthful to ourselves and our fellowmen, we are only very great sinners, truth is only sincerity. Ilya toyed skuisya. 10:35 P.M.”
“10:50 P.M. September 15th,
This is written the evening of the 16th, too tired or too lazy to write last night. Came from Fair Park about 10:30, lay out under the stars for awhile and went to bed. For the day I cannot say much, one of those that might as well have not been. They are always coming and always will. I cannot stop them no matter how much I try. Life has been so and it cannot be changed now. I am only drifting on, sorry that I could not go with her, needless of what life yet has in store for me; lost and can find no answers. If man has ever been in greater bewilderment then I must be a weakling indeed. For some ray of happiness I would be thankful. It is possible to make the side of life that mingles with the mass of humanity, agreeable and pleasant and admirable, but there remains within the great sadness, the cutting disappointments, and so I cannot be good and cheerful and admirable because I expose nothing false only the sadness of my heart. I wish I could have gone with her. “Ilya toyed skuisya.” 11:05 P.M.”
(Written by me in 2013)
As many of you know because of your own dealings with grief; sleep is such a big part of that. I’ve never slept so much as I did after my own husband died. I still sleep more than I ever did. The grief takes so much from you both physically and mentally. More than one realizes. Poor John, I’m just happy he is sleeping….
“10:40 P.M. September 17th,
Sat. Night. Tomorrow is Sunday. I shall be in Ft. Worth. It has been hot today. It will be hot tomorrow. I’ve been lying out under the stars and they bring no measure of peace to me tonight. I am even bitter toward them and they usually command my deepest admiration and love. But not tonight. Nothing could soften my heart tonight but her loving touch and whisper in my ear, “I love you daddy!” I can only look at her picture with a tear in my eye. All else in the world means naught and I hate it all, most of all myself. God but how people are becoming so evil. It means only the end of America. I hope I shall not see it. “Ilya toyed skuisya.” 10:50 P.M.”
“9:35 P.M. September 18th,
Showers this evening and how it is much cooler. I am glad it is, it will help to keep her roses growing and also keep fresh longer the ones I took today. Such a morbid human as I have been today. Each little noise, or movement noticed, makes me eager and restless; eager for what? Only what I have no more. I am no good, and so much of a coward. I do not relieve the tension ever growing within me. Some day I may reach the point where I shall end it all and go on to my inglorious end; but I shall always try not to. Man does little else. Life is made up only of efforts and each passing moment only leaves them in our memory. The good and the bad are always there, but when one has lost all that meant life to them we search the past for a reason for life coming to this and we cannot find the good we may have done…..only the bad comes back to haunt us. “Ilya toyed skuisya” 9:50 P.M.”
“10:35 P.M. September 19th,
Texas, where I want to always be. Texas holds more within her bosom than the rest of the world can give me, but it is mine no more; what has passed on in death we only wish that we might restore it to life again but we are unable to do so. Yesterday the heat of summer caused me its discomfort. Tonight the fire in the grate is burning low and is welcome. Yesterday only it seems tho it is now a year ago my dreams of joys to come were of tiny baby hands and rosy cheeks we might call our very own. Today I have only to fight against my own existence, and each day life and its demands make me more bitter, yet always hopeful; only sad and lonely. I might be different, perhaps I should. “Ilya toyed skuisya”. 10:50 P.M.”
“9:45 P.M. September 20th,
Cool evenings again and signs of fall are with us. Children on their way to school and eager for the lessons and play and wholly ignorant of what life has in store for them and as yet not actors in the drama of the world’s activities. Must we read Christ’s teachings to see the beauty and goodness of childhood? It is very plainly manifested in the innocence of youth. Very early some go wrong and have much against them in their efforts to regain the confidence of man, yet no one is more responsible for their actions than those in whose care they have been trusted. We of today realize the misfortune for many children to be born; tho it is utterly impossible to prevent it and so in our progress of the human race we can only take the lives that are given to us and try to make them better. We can never control the breeding of man. “Ilya toyed skuisya.” 10:05 P.M.”
“10:45 P.M. September 21st,
Another very cool evening. The fire in the grate feels good; soon winter will be with us again and I shall be unable to keep warm at night and so again I shall be lonely and weary of living. Such varied emotions as I’ve had this evening. Always busy and slowly trying to find something which keeps me busy. Success seems to urge me on to greater effort and do even more than I am trying; and then the great loss of love and companionship which success cannot bring, makes the tears well in my eyes and I wonder why I so persistently keep on. For her it would be such a glorious effort; for me alone it can only bring a greater hatred for my weakness and a realization of my meager powers to combat the added demands society would make, and so I shall always want only to be alone. “Ilya toyed skuisya” 11:00 P.M.”
“10:30 P.M. September 22nd,
I am restless and nervous tonight. I fear I shall not sleep well. Why my mind so oft turns to that which I’d rather keep hidden I do not know. It is only the demands of nature but I try to ignore them. It seems too much for me. Heard the Dempsey Tunney fight over the radio. It has left me very nervous and excited. I wanted Tunney to win, tho fearful Dempsey might land as lucky blow but he did not and took a great deal of punishment in the last few rounds. I hope that Dempsey is now satisfied. His days of being the hero worshiped are over for good, and I am quite certain his social and marital relations will terminate much the same as his attempted comeback. It is only what he has built about himself and is not lasting. Ilya toyed skuisya” 11:00 P.M.”
(This will sure take you back in time:)
“10:50 P.M. September 23rd,
Soon the pages of this little book will be filled. Each day brings one less and what do they contain? Nothing of importance, only the mournful cry of a coward and one who has fought a poor fight; one whose every existence should not be permitted, the world could be so much better without me. And yet I live, more hatred in my heart each day, more vengeance to the powers that control the human destinies. More greatly displeased with the modern age and its mass of humanity. More pages to learn of the rest at the end of the long, long trail. My hopes fail when no answer comes, and yet I live! Ilya toyed skuisya.” 11:10 P.M.”
(Written by me, now, in 2026)
Oh, John, if you could only know what wisdom and meaning these pages of your diary brings to me, to others. “Nothing of importance” NO a great deal of importance! “More pages to learn of the rest at the end of the long, long trail.” I have learned so much from you John, and I hope one day you will know just how powerful and how helpful your words and thoughts are almost 100 years later.
“10:35 P.M. September 24th,
Another week gone by, I do not feel good tonight. My head seems to be full of pains. Let them come. Some flowers from Edith today; tomorrow they shall go with me to Greenwood. How sweet to her to send them because they are for my little sweetheart. The cool breezes tonight, how they make me shiver, they seem like a moanful echo from my heart. Time is my only burden, time is my only foe. It has robbed me of her, and now it shall rob me of all the sweetness of the past; memories go fading and life demands the living. What a burden life is! How much sweeter must be death! I am an old old man. The enthusiasm of youth is gone. I wonder just what may come next. “Ilya toyed skuisya.” 10:50 P.M.”
(Written by me in 2013)
His phrase “The cool breezes tonight, how they make me shiver, they seem like a moanful echo from my heart”, well in my opinion ranks up there with some of the best writing I’ve ever read. And poor John, how incredibly unhappy he is. I could put “how incredibly unhappy he still is” but remember it’s less than a year since he lost his wife and child. It seems like much longer because I started this transcription back in 2011, if you can believe that. So it’s been three years for us, yet less than a year for John…..
“10:45 P.M. September 25th,
Sunday will soon be gone. Glad to have Pat and Ray and Rayanna with us today. I am somewhat tired. My head does not feel as it should, just taking a cold I guess. So soon now I cannot water her little roses; it was not intended for them to grow thru the winter, and so they will lie dormant waiting for the warmth of spring to bring them into life again. Such lowly and unworthy beings as we of the human race! We always cling to our own convictions that is all we can do. Yet we seem to pity the folly of those not in accord with our beliefs. Others to us show evil deeds or actions but to themselves it is not wrong. Sin is only what to ones own view seems to be sinful. We do not follow Christ’s teaching. “Ilya toyed skuisya.” 11:05 P.M.”
“11:10 P.M. September 26th,
The wind has changed to the north and it is getting much cooler. How mournful the wind sounds. I do not like to hear it; it seems only to add to the cry within my soul. And so again I come to another failure of life, but it adds not to my weary heart, it has all that can be piled upon it now. I can only try some other plan when the first fails and still keep busy. Man seldom builds a thing of perfection without some model or experience to go by. We can only live and learn. When we have found the correct solution we seem proud of our success. The greatest good to humanity would be the overcoming of the greatest failures, our own as well as to help others. I am tried. My head still feels odd. “Ilya toyed skuisya.” 11:25 P.M.”
“10:05 P.M. September 27th,
When one is tired and weary they long for rest. I must soon be in bed because I can hardly make my eyes open so I must be tired. I am always weary. One may sleep and no longer be tired but there seems no cure for the weariness of life which is mine. As long as life yet offers the joy of living, it is so easy to overcome the weakness within us and always places our hopes a little higher when one pinnacle has been reached but I think to one whose world no longer holds the joy of living the only true and lasting peace comes when the closing hours of life are near and the great adventure beckons us. Today, the 27th of the month again; nine months that have passed of life not greatly cherished yet they hardly seem to have passed at all. Life only goes back to other days. “Ilya toyed skuisya” 10:40 P.M.”
“10:55 P.M. September 28th,
I do not seem so tired tonight, yet there is still the weariness of living. The world is much the same as it has been. The difference is in myself, my views of life, my bitter self. The relief to any feeling of depression at eager anticipation lies only in a realization of the compelling motive to back up our efforts, if we have no goal we do nothing. My efforts are only to keep busy; there no longer is any goal to attain; and so I am listless; solemn as the twinkling stars; waiting only. Time goes very slowly and each passing hour brings no greater hope than the one before. What I do seems to matter very little. All the golden dreams of youth lie shattered at my feet, never again to beckon me toward their attainment. Life is very odd. “Ilya toyed skuisya.” 11:10 P.M.”
(Written by me in 2013)
I never thought of the words weary and tired as being different, yet being a widow myself, I get so much sleep and never seem to be tired but my weariness continues on. John’s passages are so enlightening to me, and that’s putting it lightly. As I’ve said before, he’s a genius when putting his thoughts to paper.
“10:30 P.M. September 29th,
Seldom do I find an answer to any question in my mind thru reading the works of others; some writers give us many truths and much that is good, tho they always leave us yet to find our own way, to form our own convictions. None give proof of what we must do and so life goes on, swaying to this or to that whatever the demands of the moment may be. Yesterday we were the hero worshipers of “Lindy” the greatest of aviations, and today he has gone to other cities to be their idol of the day. Great as his feat may have been, I cannot see wherein he has helped humanity; it is not necessary to life that we should fly across the Atlantic, or fly at all. It is only progress which has no end in view, only a hope to be better as the years go by. I’ve been exceedingly sad this evening. If the mind cannot build its own relief, it cannot continue always. I am tired. “Ilya toyed skuisya.” 10:55 P.M.”
http://www.charleslindbergh.com/history/paris.asp
“10:45 P.M. September 30th,
And now we must bid good-bye to September days. Those of 27 will soon be gone forever. The close of the month brings us the thoughts of what the month has brought; what we have done; how near to an attainment of the tasks we have set before us we have come. We cannot know if it has been as it should, only thru following the dictates of our own conscience can we feel content in our souls. Each day seems only to magnify the vain efforts of man to establish the profound belief in God and his all powerful influence in the life of man; the supreme efforts of all his teachings seem only to me to be those of the greatest sentimentalists who are not familiar with life and the common plane; I am either a great hypocrite or heathen. My God is only my own conscience and what it knows. “Ilya toyed skuisya.” 11:05 P.M.”
To Be Continued.
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