The Old Homestead
Page 2 11/1/1942
Things I wish for:
1 – That each of you boys will write me at ONCE what you would like to have for Christmas. Time is short, goods are running low and mental effort trying to think of something that you will like is exhausting.
2 – That Dan, who expects to be unable to get home for at least five weeks, will religiously write home once a week.
3 – That Ced, whose last letter (to Dave) is a good example of how interesting he can write, will receive his old resolve to write more frequently than once every two months. There is yet unfinished the account of the aeroplane rescue trip. I have never yet received a definite report on why he has not yet been drafted. Has Art been able to get deferments from time to time or is there some other reason? What is the present status? How is Rusty? Did he win that award from Washington? Is it definitely out or still pending?
Friday, the upstairs of the barn was transformed into quite an attractive setting for a Young People’s Halloween party. Some of the ideas used were reminiscent of Ced’s activities for a similar occasion for the Chandler Choral party. Cider from Burroughs, donuts, apple dunking, and some comic movie reels were some of the high spots.
Yesterday afternoon, Dick sawed some wood, Dave cleaned up after the party and Aunt Betty washed storm w I sweetie I’ll wait a minute windows that I put up. As for news, Jean Hughes (that was) is going down south again soon to join her soldier husband who has been assigned to M.P. Duty; Flora Bushey didn’t like nursing, has quit and is now working at Sikorsky’s; Mr. Evers of Trumbull is running for representative on the Democratic ticket; Mr. Kurtz is back in circulation again; Vernon Pert, who with a partner, took over Kurtz’s gas station, is now in the service; Dave, in spite of the fact he is working every afternoon after school at the office, expects to get second honors; and I, as Justice of the Peace, have launched to couples during October into the sea of matrimony.
The weather here has been mild enough so far that we have not been forced to light the furnace, although mornings, the house is a bit chilly. It won’t be for long now. (When I get talking about the weather you may rightly assume topics for orrespondence are running low).
Now that the ice has been broken in the chain of weekly letters and a precedent established, I may adopt the example set by Ced and Dan of writing every other month or so. This is sort of an advanced warning. It may be I place and altogether false value on the eagerness to which you look forward to letters from home, in which event this may not constitute much of a threat. We shall see. He jests at scars that never felt a wound. You never miss the water till the well runs dry, and much of the same ilk, may be urged in support of this stand.
The day draws to a close and so does this letter. Both should end in a blaze of glory, but this, alas, is destined to follow the familiar formula – love from Aunt Betty and
Tomorrow and Sunday, I’ll be posting more early memories of Trumbull and Dave’s memories of World War II..
Next week, I start a week of letters from 1945. Dan’s wedding to Paulette is getting closer.