October 8, 1944
Sunday Night

Dear Sweetheart;

Since I have already written to you today, there’s very little to write about, but must let you know that I’m thinking about you, as usual. I am becoming so anxious for you to get home, now that school is over and a vacation is in the offing. Next Saturday I plan to make reservations to go home around the middle of November. I don’t seem to be able to write or even spell today. Guess that’s due to the movies I saw this afternoon.

Did I tell you Florence sent me a box of stationery and I’ll bet you that means to write a letter pretty soon! Gee, I don’t seem to get anyplace anymore; especially this summer while field work has been going on. Maybe after I get home and settled, I’ll really have an opportunity to catch up on letters I owe. By that time, we will be fussing with Christmas. Mother thinks that Dave may get a furlough this fall and come home. War uproots everyone’s home these days, and it seems such a shame that we have to initiate every generation into a war, and start our young men off in life with maimed defects and mental handicaps. I fear that sections of the young men coming home from war when they find how little social progress have been made while they were away. I believe we have a potential fascist fire when this happens. Our present soldiers won’t be happy selling apples again.

I love you,
BL