October 27, 1932
My letters may be few and far between, but you can be assured I am thinking of you all the time. I had to go out in the rain this morning to get this ink to write you, so you see I even think of you when itís raining and gloomy around here. Somehow, it seems to change everything when we (my mother and I) sit and talk about you. I surely do envy you now. When I was working, and had something to occupy my mind all day, I didnít have time to think of everything I do now. I imagine you are happy and contented up there, with something interesting to do all the time, whereas, being that Iím not used to staying home all day, itís getting monotonous. But I manage to keep busy. When my brother-in-law was in the hospital, I went to my sisterís every night and in the morning I would straighten up her flat and then walk home and do the same thing at home, but you know the difference in her place and ours.
To keep myself busy now, Iím making pillows and lamp shades out of scraps of material we got from Mrs. Knight. I made a real pretty powder puff pillow out of silk from one of Francesí dresses, and Iím keeping it for Jerryís mother. Iíll give it to her at Christmas. I also made a blue and yellow one for my room, and now Iím making a green one for the couch.
I made two yellow georgette shades for my dresser lamps, and I was rummaging in the attic and found another little lamp and shade, so Iím recovering that shade. I guess I got a sewing fit all of a sudden, but I suppose that will wear off in a few weeks.
Iím getting to be one of your motherís regular Thursday visitors, for Iíve been going there quite regularly. It feels good to get out there and see her every week, but still, before I go, I canít seem to forget that youíre not there. I always say, ďIím going out to Ireneís,Ē and then when it dawns on me that youíre not thereówellóit just makes me get the blues.
Old meany what I am. Here I am telling you all my troubles and maybe Iím making you feel the same way, instead of making you feel good to get a letter from me once in a while. But gosh, Sis! I have to tell somebody, and I can tell you everything, cause then it makes me feel better. I guess Iím still just a baby, cause here I am bawling now.
(Well! The stormís over, as here goes again.)
My mother and I had our plans all made up to come and see you on visiting Sunday, but as usual they were foiled. We were going to take Genevieve and whoever else wanted to go to fill up the car, and we were to go out with your folks. That is, follow them, because I donít t know the way alone. Then we were going to go right on to Holy Hill, and come back to Milwaukee in the afternoon to see you. But when we disclosed our plans to my dad, John heard it and he said he had the car reserved for Sunday a week in advance. Of course we didnít know anything about that. But naturally you know who won out on the argument that followed. So your mother said the next time they go up, I can go with them.
I hope you are well and happy and Iím praying for you every day. Everyone out here with the exception of my mother is in good health. My mother has been ailing for a long time now, but she will not give in and go to a doctor. She says as long as she can be up and around yet, she isnít sick enough to have a doctor. We canít tell her anything different, either.
This is just about the longest letter Iíve ever written to anybody, but you deserve it, and it made me feel better already, just to know that is you who is receiving it, one who appreciates it.
PS (written along the side) After re-reading the letter I decide to omit some of it, but I havenít the time now so will just have to (illegible) with it, meaning the part about the blues, and bawling (what a place for a PS)
[To go to next letter, click here: 11-4-1932 Irene]