Trumbull, Conn., Sunday, Nov. 22, 1942
One winter’s day a snail started to climb a cherry tree. “Ho, ho,” laughed the grasshopper, “there aren’t any cherries up there”. “No,” replied the snail, “but there will be when I get there”.
What this opening remark has to do with letters that do not arrive, I haven’t the least idea, but I thought I would start in that way anyhoo, leaving it to you to find a moral there in if you can.
Lad has been home all this week on a furlough, thoroughly overhauling his car, grinding valves, realigning the brakes, changing tires, etc., to get ready for his trip to Flint and from there to the sunny clime of California. Thus the West claims another of my boys – – and I am devoutly hoping the South-West will release him to return to the paternal roof of Trumbull sooner than the North-West has seen fit to send my other stalwart son home to his boyhood haunts. With Thanksgiving in the offing, I suppose it behooves me to take store of my present blessings rather than sighing for the things that might have been – – for after all the latter would be a species of selfishness born out of self-pity. After all, Lad is doing the sort of thing he is interested in and doing it so well that the chances are his value will be greater to Uncle Sam than if he were sent to the fighting areas. Ced may have some heart aches he manfully keeps to himself for his letters never reflect anything but a poignantly cheerful spirit. He is doing the sort of thing he is interested in, is learning to fly and so far has not been drafted. Dan, thank the Lord, is still near enough to get home frequently and he, too, seems to be fairly content as long as they give him opportunity to satisfy his thirst for knowledge. Dick will probably not get into the service until after the first of the year, after which will follow a period of training, and as I have not changed my opinion that the war will be over as far as any real fighting is concerned by this time next year, I think the training experience will do him a lot more good than otherwise. By September of next year Dave will be of drafting age but the good news from all the fighting fronts of late leads me to hope that he, too, will arrive not with too little but too late.
Elizabeth we see frequently, with her to interesting little sons. So, while I am not expecting either Dan or Lad home for the traditional Thanksgiving celebration, my three absent sons will be absent in the flash only. Aunt Elsie expects to be with us and probably Jean.
Probably the New Rochelle Peabody’s have departed for Vermont. Lad phoned yesterday to see if they were home, intending to take us down there for a visit, but was told the phone had been discontinued.
Bedtime draws nigh and with no further items of note to record, all say goodbye for another week, hoping that the post office will be kind and bring another message right soon to your
Tomorrow and Wednesday, I’ll be posting other letters written by Grandpa to his away-from-home sons. Then a letter from Lad and a Christmas card to Ced from the Larry Peabodys.