Letter #12

Sunday Afternoon.

October 25, 1942.

My dearest darling,

As I told you in my last letter, I received your cable Friday, and sent a reply that afternoon after work. I hope you received it all right. I haven’t received any mail since letters 4 and 5 for October, which came last Tuesday. I am still missing numbers 2 and 3 for October, which will probably get here this next week, and maybe I’ll also get some more recent letters.

I am enclosing a clipping from the Sunday paper that some Christmas packages for the army in the British Isles were sunk. I am wondering if the package containing your old blouse was among the lost packages. And I mailed a parcel to you on Oct. 3, which was not really an Xmas package, but was in a way. It had some cigars and a few useful items. And this article in the paper says that packages through those received on Oct. 3^rd were sunk. So I presume that parcel is gone too. Well, time will tell. If you don’t receive those two boxes, we’ll know where they are. The package from the folks here was mailed to A.P.O. 305 the day before we learned of your change of address. And if I don’t hear to the contrary, I’ll mail my Xmas package to you tomorrow afternoon or Tuesday morning to A.P.O. 871. I know that things will be forwarded to you so that you will get them eventually, and you will know that they are on their way. I wonder what has become of the anniversary gift I sent you, and mailed Sept. 4^th. Maybe it has been sent on a slow ship or else lost.

Yesterday afternoon was pleasant, so Sylvia and I went for a short ride in our car, dear, and I drove. I like to keep in practice, and I do not have much opportunity when I am working. I still don’t like to drive. I guess it is because I am lazy, maybe, or else a little nervous about it.

Last night, my father and I went to the Riviera to see Mickey Rooney in “A Yank at Eton.” It was funny in some places, and rather sad in a couple or so of the scenes. There was also a merry melody cartoon, the usual newsreel and prevues, and one of those lovely musical shorts---you know the kind you and I just love---featuring an orchestra full of____. Yes, you know exactly what I mean.

I went to Johnson City to church this morning with Aunt Sadie, and of course my dad sang in the choir. I was going to Christ Church with Hope, but her mother was sick this morning, and she felt that she should stay at home. So I went to Johnson City, rather than to go to our church alone. It is hard for me to go to Christ Church alone, where we went together so many times, you and I, and where we were married—(and confirmed and baptized too, for that matter.) But I went to church anyway. Mr. Higley had a good sermon, about being faithful in small, trivial, everyday tasks. I must admit, however, that my mind wandered some during his sermon. I got to thinking of the time you and Grandma and Auntie and I went there to church one Sunday and surprised my dad.

And just one or two nights ago, I was sitting knitting on my sweater and, as usual, thinking of you. And, darling, it seemed almost as if I heard you say, “Does your little nose itch? Does it itch awfully bad?” And I actually had to stop knitting and scratch my nose!

Honey, since you have been gone, have you any idea how much you have given in contributions or taxes, etc., that I can deduct when it comes time to make out the income tax next January or February? You had better tell me in two letters, so if I don’t get one, I will get the other.

I am going to give $10.00 to the Community Chest tomorrow, from you and I together. That is what you have given for the past two or three years, I believe. And in the spring or whenever the Red Cross drive is to be, I will have to give more than that amount. I feel obligated to be generous as far as Red Cross is concerned for two reasons. The first is that I know where some of their money goes, and it is used very wisely and goes to help deserving people, including service and ex-service men, and their families. The second reason is that the Red Cross is paying my salary. So do you want me to give $20.00 or $25.00 in your name and mine next spring when the Red Cross roll call takes place?

This afternoon, my father and I went for a short ride, as it was so nice out. We drove over to Montrose by the way of Silver Lake, and returned by Franklin Forks. It was a lovely ride, although there is not so much color in the landscape now. Most of the leaves have fallen. Before we started to ride, I went across the street and took two or three pictures of this house, as you asked me to, and I’ll send them to you if they are any good. It doesn’t look any too beautiful with the trees in front all bare, but it gives a better view of the house itself. Then we drove over on Brookfield Road, and I took a couple of pictures of the backyard, and a couple from the back lot looking toward the wall. I hope they turn out good.

I saw Jimmy Lynch out in his backyard with a ladder. I guess he was going to do something to the back of his house. Little Jimmy was with him. He (big Jimmy) inquired for you. And Mrs. Haston walked along our side walk on Overbrook on her way to see a sick friend at the hospital. She also inquired for you, and sent you her best wishes. And Mr. Matthews was out in his back year. He didn’t pay any attention to me, and guess he did not know who I was until I spoke to him. Then he was very pleased, and asked me all about you. He said he would be very glad when we were back in the neighborhood. I told him that we would be very glad ourselves. He sends his best regards.

Grandma is much, much better today. She came to the table for dinner today, and sat up for quite a while afterwards. I guess she is in bed now, but expects to get up for Sunday night lunch.

I wish we were over in our hose about now. We would be fixing popcorn and cocoa. All the time I wish we were located there again. When do you suppose it will be? Sometimes I feel very optimistic, and sometimes I feel sort of blue and especially lonesome, and discouraged. It will be six months next Thursday since we have been together. Let us hope and pray that by the time another six months have passed, we will be together again, both of us safe and well, and either in our own home, or else getting all ready to move in. I wish we could celebrate Christmas 1943 together in our own home. Wouldn’t it be wonderful?

We have some new filing cabinets for our office, and are rapidly outgrowing our space. We hope to be moved either into one of the larger rooms, or else have a little anteroom built jutting our into the hall, and connected to our office, where we can put some of the records and cards that we don’t use often, but that are sometimes very necessary to have handy.

Here at the house, things are the same as usual. Housecleaning is all over except for the kitchen and living room. The kitchen is to be painted on Tuesday, I believe, so I will be eating over town that day. It surely needs some paint. They are going to have the walls light green, and the woodwork and cupboards cream color, like the stove.

Mr. Cole’s bill was $125.77 and he did a lovely job. Mrs. Crane was very pleased. I have paid him, and also paid Mr. Carroll his bill of $33.15, about which I explained in a letter I wrote a week or ten days ago.

Ginger is as sweet as ever, but he doesn’t bathe as often as he should, and his white front and his feet are not as white as they should be, but are grey. However, he washes his face, and right around his mouth. He is very affectionate most of the time, and climbs up on anyone’s lap without an invitation. He usually comes just as soon as he is called when he is out-of-doors. He is very fussy about his eating lately, and what he eats in a big hurry and likes today, he may stick his nose up at tomorrow. Mattie calls him Mr. Vanderbilt, and says that is what his “V” stands for. But the rest of us like him, even if he is particular. We feed him table scraps, buy him liver, or canned fish, and he also likes a dry cat food that is sort of hard, and he crunches and chaunks on it, and thinks it is awfully good. It is impossible to get canned cat or dog food anymore, and you can buy a dehydrated food to mix with water, but I haven’t seen any god or cat yet that likes the dehydrated food. Auntie makes a special stuff herself for Rover that has meat and corn mean and vegetables, etc., and Rover eats it, but Ginger won’t touch it. Ginger is a little bit fatter, we think. He feels a tiny bit heavier when you pick him up, and he doesn’t feel so boney.

The clipping I mentioned is so little, I fastened it to the church program.

Well dearest, I guess that about exhausts my supply of news for now. None of us have been doing anything out of the ordinary lately. I think of you all day, and dream of you all night, so you know that I constantly have you on my mind. I wonder how you are, what you are doing, etc., and then I love to remember some of the things we used to do, and the wonderful talks we used to have, and our conversations that last week we were together in Bordentown.

I am so proud of you my sweet. First I am proud that you are doing your part, and doing so well. Secondly, I am proud of your promotion---just imagine---a Major! I sued to be rather in awe of anything about a Captain, and here I am writing to a Major three or four times a week, and sending him cables. And thirdly, but by no means least, I am proud of you because everyone likes you so much, and respects you, and because you are so successful in whatever you do---to mention only a few of the many reasons why I am so proud of you. And I am proud and happy to think that I have such a wonderful and marvelous husband. No one but me knows how really sweet and thoughtful you are. And I love to think of the memories and the varied experiences we share together---just you and I, sweetheart. And as time moves alone, I know that we are drawing just that much nearer to the time we will be reunited, to take up again our life together.

All my love and kisses to you, my darling. I miss you, and long for you, sweetheart, and look forward to the time when you will be home again, and we will be together.

Your loving and devoted wife,

Jeanette.