May 26, 1941
After all the talking we did we failed to discuss the mort important question of whether we should have a plug installed in our house and where it should be located. If you want one, the best place, (I think) for it, is the parlor. But where in the parlor would you like to have it? I promised Mr. DeKoven that I would call him sometime this week and let hime know. Since you don’t think you’ll be able to come in this weekend, I think the best thing for me to do is to drop the entire matter.
Mom has changed her mind and is not going to New York. She also keeps asking me if we intend moving out to the new house if there is war. She seems more worried than ever and dislikes the idea of moving out to the new house. She is afraid that we won’t be able to meet the expenses which accompany the moving and settling into a new house. Besides, she says she will be too lonely. Honest, sweet, I don’t know what to think. She is right in some respects and wrong in others and I can’t say that I blame her for any ideas she may have.
How gloomy this letter sounds. Things really aren’t that bad, so cheer up, baby.
After your departure Mom and I cleaned up the kitchen, got fixed up and sat on the porch. We talked about everything–mostly babies. About 11:30 we had some tea and then hit the hay.
Talk about getting compliments, I got 12 of them today. Everyone at work (including the bosses) complimented me on my appearance. They all thought my hair style was lovely and that I looked very “sophisticated.” I wore my black and white dress. Aren’t you proud of your wife?
Mom had to go to the Customs House today for here citizenship papers. She said that she “went through plenty of red tape” before she could leave. They asked her those questions she was supposed to memorize and she didn’t know them. She says that it didn’t really matter.
I hope the journey back was comfortable and that you arrived on time. How are you feeling? Not too tired, I hope.
I love you, sweet, and I hope that you will write as soon as possible to
Your loving wife,
P.S. I sprayed this letter with Toujours Moi, but the odor is very faint. It’s responsible for the blurry marks.
Monday May 26, 1941-7 PM.
Arrived safely after a very fast trip by train + taxi, getting here 10.30 P.M. Got a good night's sleep and awoke this morning feeling swell and rarin’ to go. This morning was cool and sunny after the rain and it was nice to be in the field. Everything smelled fresh and clean. I didn't even begin to feel tired until the late afternoon when it got much warmer. But I didn't have to put up with the discomfort for long, as we were through by 4.30. After chow I showered, shaved, etc; and here I am writing to you, my sweet. Incidentally, I thought you looked swell this past week-end. This week-end is still in doubt, although I did ask for a pass. A friend of Sam's was inducted here last Tuesday and he has his car here. We're going over to try to make arrangements to come in with him whenever we have leave. If it works out, it'll cost us about $2.00 each time we come in, which is quite a saving—no? There isn't much more I can write now so you'll forgive me if I seem to cut this letter short—I also want to drop Jackie a letter tonight. More tomorrow. My love to all.
P.S. Just remembered to tell you I don't have the fare if I do happen to get my pass. We won't get paid til June 4. I don't feel right about this constant importuning for money, but I will give it back to you, Ev, if you'll bear with me a little while.
P.P.S. I forgot my bathing-suit after all. I'd appreciate it, sweet, if you could get it to me some time this week.