29 Mar March 29, 1945

March 29, 1945, Thursday, midnight
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Darling,

Hi. How are you? Love me?  Coming home soon?  Wouldn’t it be wonderful if
one knew that on a certain date you could get on that boat and head for
home? I just wouldn’t know how to act, I’m afraid.  I’m afraid it may be
a long time, so I try to keep from being overly optimistic, although it’s
nice to dream at times.

I overslept this morning of all days as Lillian (Elsie’s sister) and her
youngest boys (one and three years old) were coming for lunch.  It was
nine o’clock when I got up.  It was so rainy and dreary that I’d liked to
have stayed in bed even longer.  But I sure rushed around when I got up
as I dressed Ronnie and myself, prepared and ate breakfast, baked a pie,
and fixed a jellied salad, cleaned the house, and so on, all before
12.30.  Everything turned out okay, however, and Lillian said she enjoyed
her lunch very much. We had scalloped ham and potatoes, buttered green
beans, jellied salad containing chopped carrots, celery,

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 apple and green pepper with lettuce, fresh blueberry pie with ice cream
and coffee, and hot Parker House rolls and jelly.  Her one year old is
just starting to walk and kept us on pins and needles throughout the meal
by trying to pull the tablecloth off, got hold of a big strainer, and
hammered some nicks into our cedar chests and chairs and generally into
everything.  She must have her hands full with her three boys, one, three,
and five years old, and all little devils.  Everyone of them still wet
their pants night and day. Imagine?  Ronnie hasn’t done that for more
than a year now.  Of course, he’s an exception because he’s yours and mine.
With three on my hands, however, I doubt whether he’d be trained as well.
Everything she tells her children goes in one ear and out the other. Her
three-year-old is bigger than Bobby and he’s four now and her five-year
old looks about seven or eight. Of course, Lillian and Elsie are good-sized
and their brother is six fett six inches tall and husky.  Lillian said
Ronnie looks more like his Daddy every time she sees him.

I got a letter from my honey today, dated March 20th and 21st. A nice
long letter too. Good

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for you! You mentioned colored people in your letter. I hear several
English girls are trying to get over here, having married black boys.
I understand they pose as American Indians over there. The blacks are
getting bolder here all the time too.  The Chicago Theater is full of
black customers now, and any restaurant has as many black as white
customers now-a-days.  Quite a few have accosted white women assaulting
and robbing in IC stations lately. They have picketed the <? Trianon>
Ballroom several times, demanding admissions, but has yet haven’t gained
entrance, but will eventually. I expect.  I do feel sorry for them, and
it’s a pity that they were ever brought here as slaves.  But it will be
a big problem after this war, I’m afraid.

I had a letter today from Helen Saof and Norman Nelson (of Rockford) who
are coming in to visit me April 15th. They want to see a play "Touch of
Venus" with Many Martin and John Bales (light opera) and go to eat at the

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Shangri-La Restaurant on State Street. I’m expected to go to, but don’t
know where I can get the extra money to go. I’ll manage somehow, I expect,
although how, I haven’t figured out as yet.  Maybe Judy can furnish
another litter of pups by then. I actually got $43 altogether for the other
batch.  although I spent $4 for tail amputations and $2 for ads plus food

for five pups for seven or eight weeks.  She’ll have to have thoroughbreds
next time or else.

Out of a clear sky a couple of weeks ago when I asked Ronnie to do something
or other for me, he replied, okay, "Mommy Darling"! I was so surprised to
hear that and I said, "Thank you, honey. I like that".  Since then, every
time he does something, he shouldn’t and I bawl him out, he says, "I’m sorry
Mommy darling". And I, and right away, of course, I melt right then and
there, and does he take advantage of it!  He is getting just as smart as
his daddy, it seems.

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You mentioned having been offered an athletic director job.  Is this for
occupation armies <? diversion>, or what?

I’m getting so sleepy, honey. My eyes hurt and I can hardly keep them open.
It’s way past my bedtime.

Ronnie had a haircut again today and the barber on 115th asked about you.
How you were and so on.

I’m stopping now. I may add a line or two in the morning.

Friday, March 29, 1945, 3:00 p.m.
Here ’tis another day and I have so much to do, but no ambition. Seems as
each holiday comes, it’s harder to face alone. I keep thinking if you
were home, we’d be very busy buying an Easter basket for Ronnie and
possibly planning what to do on Easter Sunday.  We’d have a nice dinner
at home and go for a ride, possibly visiting.  It’s funny how ordinary,
common place things seem so nice now when we can’t be together to do them
at all.  We’re

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certainly going to have to do just lots of things when you get home to
make up for this long time apart.

The weather is dreary today too, which probably has a lot to do with my
low spirits. It’s dark, dreary, and rather cool.

I think I’ll go to Rockford tomorrow morning in spite of Chuck and Betty
not being home on Sunday. Elsie from <? Beloit> sent me a card today
saying she’d be in Rockford tomorrow night and we’ll go to a show with me.
She’s in the same boat I am, so maybe we can cry together.  Joe was in
New Guinea (with the Navy), but is now in the Philippines, so I imagine
she’s worried about him. I’d also like to see Eleanor and Jackie’s new
baby son, so maybe I can go there on Sunday.

Ronnie will be getting up soon, so we’ll go out to mail this letter.

Darling, I hope you have as nice an Easter as possible and just remember
I’ll be with you in the Spirit if not in person.  I love you very much
and God alone knows how much I miss you.

All our love, Mom and Ronnie.