Berwyn, Ill
October 27, 1932
Dear Irene:
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 it’s 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 didn’t 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 I’m not used to staying home all day, it’s getting monotonous. But I manage to keep busy. When my brother-in-law was in the hospital, I went to my sister’s 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, I’m 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 Frances’ dresses, and I’m keeping it for Jerry’s mother. I’ll give it to her at Christmas. I also made a blue and yellow one for my room, and now I’m 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 I’m 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.
I’m getting to be one of your mother’s regular Thursday visitors, for I’ve been going there quite regularly. It feels good to get out there and see her every week, but still, before I go, I can’t seem to forget that you’re not there. I always say, “I’m going out to Irene’s,” and then when it dawns on me that you’re not there—well—it just makes me get the blues.
Old meany what I am. Here I am telling you all my troubles and maybe I’m 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 I’m still just a baby, cause here I am bawling now.
(Well! The storm’s 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 don’t 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 didn’t 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 I’m 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 isn’t sick enough to have a doctor. We can’t tell her anything different, either.
This is just about the longest letter I’ve 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.
Love
Chris
PS (written along the side) After re-reading the letter I decide to omit some of it, but I haven’t 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]