Dearest Folks:
A little while ago I had a refreshing bath in the river nearby, and so now after having finished supper I feel like one of the old folks who likes to sit in the evening shade and just relax until dark. I’m feeling better every day, but still feel a little abnormal at times. How good it would be to inhale a bit of frosty air or walk through a snowdrift, with both cheeks rosy and cold. Perhaps they wouldn’t appeal to you, but after having been in the hot climates for better than two years, such an experience would be a treat. The weather here is extremely sultry and depressing and sometimes it seems to sap your will to work. Now I’m sweating but this year in the sincere hope that I will be able to see you sometime in 1945. Still our Christmas mail has not come and at this late date I’m beginning to think that someone should be held accountable, and explain for the situation. I’m sure it has been a failure on someone’s part after having seen other units getting theirs. One package arrived today from Mrs. D. A. Grove. It was well beat up and looked as though it had been kicked around from pillar to post. Also received a Free Press, the first in many months and dated the 17th August. And a November Reader’s Digest came. Although the second class mail has indeed been fouled up, the first class has been coming regularly, as of course it must. The night before last had a V-mail from mom.
Well I hardly know what to write about now. My work has been going along about the same. New things coming in each day and reports to keep up. I believe our administration is at a greater peak than when we were in garrison. I’m sure that Dad’s reports are very few in comparison to what we submit. I suppose I will always be connected with higher headquarters. I see Arden Conklin is talking officer’s training—it’s hard to imagine a man of his qualities getting the opportunity. Applications at present are out and quotas in what I might qualify in are extremely rare. The last enlisted man to leave our outfit for OCS was over a year ago. The rain has been keeping our area in quagmire and it is a job to walk around without stepping in ankle deep mud, and I suppose the rain will always be much as it is now. It’s great for the many water buffaloes around but sad for the sad sack. I guess this is all to this epistle, and you just keep breaking wishbones, and throwing horseshoes over your shoulder until I hit the states again. Hey here’s an odd little request – getting soft – can you get Wylma N’s address for me? I owe her a letter. What do you think?
Love,
