December 17, 1942

Dec 17, 1942

425 S. Cabrillo Ave

San Pedro, Calif

Dear father, mother, and the rest of the folks at home

In the words of the popular ditty — I’m dreaming of a white Christmas. I suppose I shouldn’t let myself think about it because it makes me more than somewhat lonesome but somehow or other I can’t help it. I can’t believe its Christmas, unless I try to conjure up in my mind some of its features that have been characteristics in the past as far as I am concerned. You don’t know how much I wish that I were home for Christmas — even one hour, on Christmas Eve, or at Julotta or on Christmas day, or just walking around in the snow. To see each one of you would be about the best Christmas present I could have but unfortunately I suppose it can’t be.

I’ll be thinking of you all though and even if I’m not there in person, something of me will be since I’m sure it won’t be here. When you’re milking the cow, Verner, it’ll be you, of course, but it’ll be me too. When you’ve just jumped into a cold bed, Snooty, and you’re all scrunched up in a ball trying to get warm, it’ll be me. When you’re wiping the dishes, daddy; when you’re backing the car out of the garage, Vincent; when you’re feeding the chickens, Marold; when you’re gazing vacantly out of the window and thinking of your dream-bait, Clarice; when you’re frying the (how do you spell it? anyway you know what I mean), mama; it won’t be entirely you, it’ll be a little but me too.

Some day, I promise myself, I’ll be home for Christmas again, and I hope its just the same then as it always has been. Every day that passes is another day closer to the time when I’ll be home again, either for a visit or permanently. Somehow or other I can’t get away from the feeling that I’m just marking time until I can start to live again. When I’m riding home on the P.E. I’ll doze off sometimes and then wake up again and wonder, what am I doing here, as it it were all sort of a mixed-up dream.

It shouldn’t be too long till I am home again, either for a visit or for the rest of my life. Size or seven months for the first and certainly not more than three years for the latter. I suppose that it may be true that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but if I really like home one-tenth as much as I think I do now, I’ll never be satisfied elsewhere.

I must stop not for awhile. I will finish this letter tomorrow.

This is a mournful letter isn’t it? I guess I will start in by writing about something else. Your package, mother, arrived safe and sound this week, I forget just what day. I opened it, because I sort of thought there would be cookies in it and sure enough there was and boy! are they scrumptious! They are 99% intact also from what I have seen so far which is much better than they usually were when they arrived in Iowa City. My natural instinct was to eat them all at once of course but I realized that such would be a poor policy both from the standpoint of the enjoyment I would get which in such a case would be short-lived and from the immediate consequences of such an action.

Thank you very much for the cookies, mama. Every time I eat one I will think of you and I can just see you now rolling them out etc, etc. I suppose I’ll open the present that have come on Christmas Eve as in the past, altho I must confess that it is harder to keep from opening them right away out here where a little sly peeking would go unnoticed. I have also got a package from Aunt Esther & one from Aunt Laurine and a card from Eugene.

It has been raining in California. Yesterday when I went down town to supper it was just starting to rain and during supper it rained but let up while I was walking home — just like that. Later it started again and I think from the look of things it must have rained considerably. At the refinery it didn’t start to rain until later but I think that there was more rain there than here in San Pedro. Today the sky is overcast and I sort of think that it might rain some more.

Since I wrote home last, life has been uneventful around here. I get up as usual every night go to work, get done, have breakfast, go to sleep, get up, fool around, have supper, go to sleep, get up and start it over again. This goes on till Sat when I sleep till morning, get up, go to church, fool around, eat supper, go to church, gone home & to bed, get up and start another week.

As I perhaps did not make myself clear in my last letter, I do usually sleep in two installments but I don’t think the average is much more than seven hours usually. However, I don’t think this matters, since if I were really tired I could sleep longer after I come home from work in the morning, since on the occasions when I really was tired I slept until quite late in the afternoon.

For breakfast I have had to alter my menu because the eggs at the Shell Cafe are all eaten by the time I get there. The waitress says that they have a big rush from 5:30 to 7:00 and I guess I don’t get there till breakfast as far as they concerned is almost over. So I have been having a stack of hot cakes, bacon and coffee lately.

I am going to close this letter now because I can’t think of anything more to write about.

Wishing you all a very merry Christmas

With love,

C.P.

P.S. Thank you for the letter, Verner, and don’t kid yourself, you have a better time all around on the farm than elsewhere even if you think now its a thorn in many respects!

P.S. I agree with you. Poor cadets!

P.S. When you don’t have anything to do during vacation, as I shouldn’t think you wouldn’t (or would it be would) you can all write me thousands of nice long letters.