Dearest Gee.
So nuthin’ today, kid. Can’t understand this mail situation. Sure is ragged.
Well, how’s everything between the home front and the returning veterans? Has things got anyways near back to normal in the Bruns’ and Barber’s households? Suppose Francy and my Dad are both still nursing a little hangover. Maybe it’s a good thing we didn’t all get home at once. That way they can nurse another hangover. I’ll bet you are all having a food time and I sure hope so.
I’ll be staying in camp tomorry. Just got notified that there is a little matter of some sergeant of the guard to pull. The guard here is really G.I. with a formal guard mount and everything. Everybody wears everybody else out saluting one another and a bad time is had by all.
I finally good (?) the medal part to the good conduct ribbon today. It doesn’t mean a hell of a lot but it’s a real purty medal. I’ll send it home first chance I get. I’ll pin it on you as I guess you deserve it.
I guess today is Sis’s birthday so I’ll scratch her off a few lines. Can’t send anything but I can at least write. You know the jewelry situation here stinks. To buy something gold or silver you have to turn in something made from that metal. Where you get it from originally, I don’t know but it sure has me stopped. They have a lot of junk made from wood and painted but that looks like dimery stuff. If it wasn’t for wood these people would sure starve to death. They have a lot of paper mills along the river and when we go to town and the wind is in the right direction it smells worse than a skunk factory.
I just finished reading another novel called “Unexpected Uncle” that was pretty good. We have a show tonight at our theatre but I already saw it. It’s “Atlantic City”. Saw that in the airport camp where we took off from.
Well, kid, the news is still about the same. Rumor is now the last of September, but —
Guess I’d better knock off now and write Sis a few lines. Sure love you honey and miss you like everything.
So long for now.
Snook
The art historian in me hated to read Snook’s dismissal of the painted wood pieces available for purchase in Drammen and Oslo. I wish he’d picked some up despite his disdain for the local folk art. Also a bit funny is his complaint about the smell from the paper factories, since when the wind is blowing from the right direction (south) in his hometown of Champaign-Urbana, all you can smell is cow manure.
Letters From Snook 