Trumbull, Conn., August 8, 1942
It’s raining, Lad is home and we got a letter from Dan; and as this sums up about all the news, I’ll now close. DAD
Hold on there, says you. That’s no way to write a letter. Well, he replies, that’s a lot better than getting no letter at all. (Business of Ced flinching and looking a bit guilty). Even if it’s only a postcard, like the fellow sent home to his wife: “Having a fine time, wish you were her.”) Which shows what happens when a letter is omitted. At least you can if you have a good imagination. Moral, don’t omit letters. Q.E.D.
We are now enjoying one of those all-day steady rains. It started last night in fact and has been quietly and persistently keeping up. Yesterday afternoon I decided to paint our porch chair and as the weather even then looked a bit threatening, I took the chair and paint upstairs in the barn. There was some other furniture there too, and in my innocence, I left them together for a few moments alone, feeling sure that as this had been Aunt Betty’s chair, it had from association, learned some measure of discretion, and you can therefore imagine my surprise a short time later on my return to find a foundling on the doorstep in the shape of another camp chair, which I duly adopted into the family, painted a sort of a character whitewash, and, I suppose, for moral effect, will have to sit on hard occasionally.
Lad dropped in last night on one of the raindrops, I guess. Anyway, there he was this morning, big as life, peacefully sleeping in the bed beside Dave. As his course in Cadre School will be completed next week, he expects to be assigned definitely to some other activity and will therefore not be able to get home. However, if things break right, he may be able to get home the weekend following – – that’s of the 22nd, on which we are planning to celebrate Dick’s and Aunt Elsie’s birthday, although I am not sure Elsie will be able to make it. Also, from Dan’s last letter, it does not look particularly hopeful that Dan will be able to get off either. He says the rumor mill has died down again and it looks as though they might stay on at Roanoke Rapids for a spell longer. Meantime his fame as a lecturer, quartette and choir singer seems to be stirring the little southern town into a seething realization of what a damn Yankee from Conn. really can be like. It is even rumored he will broadcast over their local station.
And here we are now just about where we started.
The moving finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all of your piety or wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a line
Nor all your tears wash out a word of it.
So says Omar Khayyam, and while I see no reason at present to cancel anything above, neither can I think of more to say at this writing that will add either to your information or entertainment. Flash – Dave just came in and said, “Whatever you do, don’t miss an opportunity to see Mrs. Miniver.”
Tomorrow and Sunday, Grandpa shares his early life and his growing family.
Next week, I’ll be sharing letters written in 1945 with a few mentions of the upcoming wedding of Dan and Paulette in France.