My husband, Bill, is a sweetheart. After my previous post about how I don't care about Valentine's Day (at least in a commercial way), he spent way too much time trying to find the "perfect" Valentine's Day card. He succeeded. I love it.
I had been thinking all day about a letter Bill's Dad sent to his mother when Bill was just a little boy. According to the postmark, it was mailed in November 1941, when my husband was five years old. We all have difficulty imagining our parents expressing their love for each other, but this was clearly that. I'm including a transcription.
Seems our letters take a long time to get through the mail. Your letter you wrote Thursday was delivered today.
I'll bet the weather wasn't so good in Washington the last few days. Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday mornings it has been cold and a light snow has fallen almost constantly.
Today Que Wilder, staff and I worked in South Hills. The house was all closed in and we had a fire in the grate. It was swell. Worked with only a sweater over one of my new flannel shirts and sometimes almost took the sweater off. It won't be so nice on other jobs though most of the time. We and four carpenters sat around the grate fire and barbecued our sandwiches over the fire on long sticks with a wire loop on the end.
Ruth is going to Dick and Theo's wedding tonight. Had the Ford filled with anti-freeze today as they say it's going down low tonight. So why put it off any longer? First time we have had an auto that the anti-freeze would not leak and I didn't have to drain every night except for the roadster which I drained from force of habit.
My cold is somewhat better, don't cough so much at night lately. Slept until 11 A.M. yesterday -- guess that ought to help a little. I worked on Lou's auto heater yesterday afternoon soldering leaks. it still leaks after a dozen patches. Guess it's shot for good now.
Tell Billy that hair cut is only a luxury as I got a new pair of snips I can use to cut hair with when necessary. The Washington Monument don't look that high. Is it?
Make sure the letter you send next will get to me in time if it has a definite time for your arrival in it. Sorry this letter got butter and coffee all over it as I wrote it at the supper table. Bye now, John. Here is my picture. (Picture shows John behind bars in a zoo).
I never met my husband's father, John, but it gives me a great deal of pleasure to know that he was born into a loving relationship. I can't help but wonder if they could have anticipated the changes to their lives that were about to take place. This letter was postmarked almost a month to the day before our country was plunged into war as a result of the attack on Pearl Harbor.