March 4th 1944
Did I say spring was on its way? I take it all back, for today we had a young blizzard. It snowed all day long and is piled fairly high. I guess spring decided to wait awhile.
Have you heard the latest tune “I Didn't Sleep a Wink Last Night”? Well, that applies to me and last night. Furthermore Adele refused to take her afternoon nap. When I awoke this morning, I felt dead on my feet. I pushed myself all morning hoping to get a nap in the afternoon. No such luck. Well, honey, have you any idea of how I feel at this moment? Every bone, muscle and tissue of my body aches and I'm terribly weary. I had to wash an accumulation of Adele’s things, clean up the house generally before I could let her roam about as I hadn't cleaned yesterday and there was an inch of dust over all. Sarah and Betty took Adele next door for an hour to give me a chance to finish. I wrapped and prepared your package for mailing and will get it off on Monday.
Mom got a bill from Montifiore for $5.25 for care of the grave for 1943. I had a nice letter from my brother and he thinks my new stationery is “shrewd,” no less.
Harry and Goldie left this evening. They couldn't get a cab and hated to wade through this blizzard since Goldie does not have goulashes. They walked out of the house, and lo and behold, an empty cab turns the corner. Harry hailed it, and they stepped right in. Harry, looks “shrewd” in his new outfit. It's neat and rich looking.
I'm going to wash my hair, set it and shower, so I'll finish this tomorrow. I feel better that I've had my say for the day. I love you, angel.
March 5th, 1944
It is exactly five minutes to eleven and you are sound asleep—or are you? The reason I'm writing this late hour is due to the fact that I finally, yes, finally, got around to going to a movie. Anne called this afternoon, not wanting to go alone. The picture at the Lindley was “Old Acquaintance” with Betty Davis and I believe you said you saw it. I enjoyed the picture, but didn't care for the mood it put me in. Phil, dearest, I just had to write before going to bed for I don't feel right about skipping. This has been a bad week for me. I almost felt myself slipping into that old state of hopelessness. I thought perhaps my not being out for a month was the reason, but the picture tonight and being out didn't cure what ailed me. I guess I'm just a sentimental old fool, especially since we'll be spending another birthday apart. Don't hold it against me for saying the following: the tears are streaming down my cheeks as I write, the pain that gnaws at my heart is almost unbearable. There is a lump as big as an apple in my throat and an equally unbearable desire to take you into my arms and kiss and love you. It's the first time I've actually slipped, but I more or less expected it to hit me full force sometime this month. Don't worry, sweetheart, it will pass in a day or two I'm sure. Just one of those things.
The absence of Harry and Goldie has been some what soothing to my rattled nervousness and the unbroken quiet of the house is relaxing. I shoveled the pavement, washed (my daily duty) Adele’s few things, shined all my shoes and did various other small things. I neglected to mention that Ethel will now have a steady maid—five days a week from nine to five. The girl is a young mulatto and I understand the pay is $10 per week.
Adele had a slight accident today. I was dressing her to take her out. She was playing with an empty powder can. I took hold of her arm to put it in the armhole of the sweater. She tried to pull away and banged the can against her lip. It wasn't a hard blow, but it hit at just the right angle, making a nasty gash and the blood ran for a while. This turned my stomach up-side-down, but I applied a cold compress which stopped the bleeding. It's okay now, though it did unnerve me. I had her out for a short while in the afternoon.
She has a new trick up her sleeve. When someone bawls her out or won't give her what she wants she sort of blinks her eyes as if to cry and makes a wry face. Boy, is she a faker! She always calls my dad “Pop” and he goes into hysterics every time he hears her call him “Pop.”
You know, sweet, I feel lots better already. “Talking” to you always helps so much! How can mere words describe the depth of my feelings and love for you darling, when they are so immense and indescribable that they defy description? I don't think I shall ever be able to tell you really, actually and ably extent of my adoration to you, sweet Phil.
You are probably interested in how I disposed of my check, which I also neglected to tell you. I gave Mom only $25, as Harry and Goldie are still paying $25 per week. (She has a month’s pay coming to her from the Signal Corps. and there is one more check due before they will drop to $20 per week.) $2.57 goes for insurance as usual. I've put aside $15 for Adele’s stroller. (I hope that's all it will be) and I owe a large milk bill. I owe the tailor $1.50 so far, took in tonight's movie, bought some ice cream and that’s as far as I've gotten this month. It's a good thing I didn't have to pay the $40 yet as I had expected to do. At least I'm not flat broke, though I may be before the month is out. I can't complain and don't intend to.
And now, baby, it is getting very late and I'm getting very sleepy. Move over a little bit, honey, for here I come, ready or not. (As if you wouldn't be ready!) I love you, Phil!
March 6, 1944
This is becoming a real “running” letter and I hope it has a speedy flying trip to you. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Baby, and how does it feel to be 29? Gosh, but 29 seems far off for me. Seems to me you should have made another trip to London by this time and for all I know you may be there right now. Hope you had a nice time.
Guess you heard about the quads born in England, as who hasn’t? What a man! It caused quite a fluster here.
Milt Brown lost his wallet with $70 the other day and had to wire home for money. Please be careful, Phil, although I know you haven't any real excess on hand at present.
I bought some “House of Westmore” powder and “pepper” red lipstick.
Adele's latest words: why, nown for down, oo for Lou, up; She understands Jewish perfectly. When asked the following (henties, egela, tsingala, nasala, shicala) promptly points to same. (pardon all spelling, please.) I took the trouble to measure Adele's height and she is exactly 31 inches tall or just about up to my hip. I think she will be tall someday. She is for her age now.
March 6, 1944
Do you realize, my darling, that today marks our seventh month apart? Seven months since I've known the sweetness of your lips, the touch of your hand, the adored feeling of you, darling. I can't help wondering how many more months will pass til we are reunited—physically.
Your “shorty” of 27 Feb. was in the mail this morning, along with letters from Jack N. and Milt Brown. Milt said it would be his last letter for sometime, as they are no longer permitted to write. Guess you know what that means. You might even get to see him if he lands in the right place.
I didn't get to bed til after 12 last night. Between then and 6:30, Adele got me up exactly six times. I'm getting to be a sleep-walker. Perhaps, it is a good thing you aren't here for you’d lose many a night’s sleep, and knowing what sleep means to you, I say it's to your advantage.
I started to clean the blinds hoping to get started with the spring cleaning—no dice—I was too sleepy. I had put Adele up for her nap and simply threw myself across the sofa. No sooner had I relaxed when Adele awoke after sleeping perhaps 20 minutes. I let her cry herself back to sleep and turned over to take an hour’s nap.
Late in the afternoon Mom and I washed and dried all the dishes in the china closet (we hadn't cleaned the china closet for 2 yrs. and thought we'd give it a break.) Consequently (and what would you expect) I'm all in and more than anxious to “hit the sack” (as you would say).
Ruth had a lovely long letter from Jack S. today though we haven't had mail for almost three weeks. Guess it's been held up. Ruth’s letter was dated Feb. 16.
I wonder how we would have celebrated this occasion, dearest, I can remember a similar occasion—two years ago—I became pregnant—do you remember? It was this date according to my figures, and I'd like to recall it as your “birthday gift”—for so it was. It sure was some birthday gift, wasn't it?
It's raining tonight and that will help to wash away the snow. I couldn't get the Milky Ways mailed off as the post office around here has a new ruling—they close at 1 P.M. daily. This makes it difficult for me, as I always go to Broad Street after putting Adele to sleep (about 12:45) and could not make it. Mom has agreed to care for her early tomorrow to give me an opportunity to get the package off.
And now, sweet, I'm sure you won't mind if I close with all my love and kisses to the best hubby and daddy of them all—you!
March 4, 1944
Just received two birthday cards, one from Mom, and one from Miss Adele Bara Strongin (what a moniker!) The handwriting on the latter card, by some strange coincidence, looked exactly like yours, Chippie. Could it be the punkin was so indisposed that she prevailed upon you to address the envelope for her? Tell Mom, I thank her for remembering me on my birthday. Tell her I never did know her birthday. That is why she never received a remembrance from me. Seems to me she doesn't know herself exactly on what day she was born, but if she's wise, she'll make one up. (Think of all the fun, gifts, etc. she's passing up due to this oversight.) By the way, wifie dear, didn't you send off a card at the same time as the others?
I'm still waiting for your next batch of letters, Sweet. I haven't had a “real” one (not V-mail) for eight days now.
News here gets scarcer by the day. I still do the same things in the same way at the same time every day. Repeating the details of this routine would hardly come under the heading of “interesting reading,” and I would hate to impose anything else on you. So you’ll understand why my letters to you grow shorter and shorter. Thank God, though, there is one thing that doesn't deteriorate or diminish either in intensity or volume with the passing days—and that is the love and adoration of