It’s a melancholy note from a homesick sailor today. He hasn’t heard from Dot for three days – must be the mail system, because she’s been pretty faithful. “Aside from the pay line, laundry and sweeping a road, I have nothing to talk about. I’m hungry, but that doesn’t make much for talk.”
He claims people around the camp are doing their best to make the place look nice for Christmas, but without cold weather, sparkling decorations, cheery words and songs, Christmas seems hollow.
He recalls the Christmases of his childhood; awaking so very early, a reluctance to get up off the floor and try on the new scratchy clothes, the toy train chugging around the Christmas tree.
A restlessness tonight inspires him to want to take a long drive in a car. He’d love it if Dot would come along.
There was a card in the mail today informing him that Dot’s parents have given him a gift subscription to Readers Digest. He asks that she thank them on his behalf until he can do a proper job of it.
With tongue in cheek, he cautions her not to get drunk on New Year’s Eve. He tells her he’ll be thinking of her from his little bunk at sea. This strikes me as an unnecessarily snarky paragraph. Will he not be writing between now and December 31? Does he have orders to ship out? If he doesn’t, why taunt her that way. I guess this is an example of the moodiness he’s warned her about.
With a hope he can do a better job on a letter tomorrow, he sends his love and signs off.
Dot’s letter is also brief, but more cheerful. She’s curious why his mother sent her a card saying that she’d mailed a package from Dart that he’d sent to Cleveland. Why did he send it home first? Also, what’s with all the packages he’s told her he’s sent? Is he trying to make her feel like a bigger heel than she already does? She’s buzzing with curiosity and excitement.
She wishes he were with her tonight (and every night.) The lovely old town of Greenwich is having her first snow of the season. With the gracious homes, welcoming streets, and stately trees, the whole town resembles a Christmas card. “The earth looks like a soft white blanket sparkling with diamond sequins and the air smells like a freshly laundered sheet, just taken off the line. It hardly seems possible that there could be anything but ‘Peace on Earth, Good Will Toward Men.’ And yet, there are millions of people who have never seen such a night, nor will they ever have the opportunity. God bless them, and I thank God I’m an American.”
Yawning, and with one eye propped open, she sends her love and closes the letter.
