Writing his first letter to her in a few days, Dart says there’s very little he can say about this sea cruise. He can mention the sunsets, but they’ve been orange and not especially inspiring of late. He can talk about the occasional rain squall “that chases its way across the rippled Pacific, changing the color of the water from its usual transparent blue to an opaque, unlovely gray.”
Mostly he can talk about the constant pitching and rolling of the ship. “One soon learns to keep in well-ventilated spaces, to keep active, to keep his stomach full, and to think of things other than the rolling ship.” It sounds as though seasickness can strike again after a body has become accustomed to the calm of port, unless one manages it right from the start.
“At night, we sit on the fantail as the ship glides smoothly, noiselessly, effortlessly through the smooth, dark water. The brilliant moon above illuminates the fleecy clouds with a fine example of heavenly back-lighting. Dark sky, black sea, big white moon, heaps of clouds all around. Beautiful. So calm and peaceful. If all sailing were as easy, as perfectly delightful; and if you could share it with me. I feel at times as though I’d like to sail for years.”
But he admits he’s a landlubber, through and through. For him, a “hatch” is just a door that forgot to stand upright. A “deck” is nothing more than a floor. And what really could get his heart racing? A brick. He waxes poetic about the lowly brick; in multiples, they can be stacked together to create a chimney or a road. A single brink can be a house in a sandcastle fairyland, or it can lay hidden under leaves for the purpose of stubbing the toe of a scruffy boy. In spite of their unobtrusive commonness, he would kiss the first one he comes to, so long has it been since he’s seen one.
In other news, he’s fixed the spud peeling machine, so he’s not as busy as he was. “We gotta have one in our house.”
“I love you always, forever.”
Dot begins her letter on the 23rd and finishes it the following day. The family finally made it to Playland. “We really had a swell time, ‘ceptin’ for a few innards which will never be in their correct positions again.” If he should ever feel compelled to take a suicide ride, she recommends the “Octopus.” It’s a car suspended at the end of a long arm that dips and rises at breakneck pace, all the while spinning rapidly backwards and forwards.
It’s after 1:00 AM and she needs to sleep, but she’ll write some more tomorrow. She’s just writing a teeny bit to apologize for the teeny bit she’s writing. She feels like she could sleep for a week.
This was her weekend to watch the Miller children while El went out on the boat with them. Next weekend the sisters will switch roles.
She reports that El is adjusting to her bad news and taking it like a real soldier. Dot’s sure it will take her a long time to get over it, but the family is proud of her attitude.
The moon tonight is so spectacular, she hopes Dart’s had a chance to appreciate it. If he can’t appreciate it out there, she surely hopes he’ll soon have the chance to revel in it’s beauty at home.
She repeats the news that Gordon is out of bed now with his arm in a sling. Mom recently filled me in on the fact that this “machine accident” which nearly cost him the use of his arm permanently, was actually a battle injury when a large piece of shrapnel lodged in his upper arm. The injury earned him a Purple Heart, but, fortunately left no permanent impairment other than a nasty scar.
In a possible reference to “Snow White,” she announces that she’s “Sleepy,” but feeling “Dopey.”
