JAN 16

My level of confidence is increasing already. The writing is coming easier . I plan to continue my odd little Erma Bombeckish stories but still need to keep my eye on the prize. That is what this all about. The book I need to write will take some time and organization. Three years ago my Aunt Christine fell ill and needed to be put in a home. I was the chosen one to deal with the drama. That's my part in the family. Middle child drama fixer. Somehow I am the person who can deal with every member of the family. My feelings are easily hurt but it always seems to roll off my back. No chips carried here they are too heavy. Its much easier to accept everyone for who they are rather than who I want then to be. Herein lies my pragmatism and extensive knowledge of old sayings.
This woman kept everything. Yes everything. Not in the hoarder style trashed house but organised in piles. On her nightstand were 3 years of Jews for Jesus donation requests. No she was not a Jew for Jesus, Lutheran Protestant all the way. She has 14 suitcases in her spare room full of old linens. Neatly stacked mind you. Her closets were filled with family memorabilia complete with handwritten notes to my father. Emergency money hidden in envelopes all over the house. It took a full week just to wade through the stuff . I'm sure she has a obsessive compulsive mental disorder. She logged each and every phone call by her telephone table. Sure she had a good heart but she was always very difficult to get along with. Especially after a few drinks.
The closet in her spare room changed my life. Not drastically but a light went on. In this closet were her memories. Envelopes of items from past crushes. A cigarette given to her by a special boy. Napkins from memorable nights. A diary of special every day items with notes of "hope" attached. The hope of a young lady waiting for her prince charming. He never came though . WWII broke out . All the boys were gone. Then she contracted tuberculosis and went into a sanitarium for probably a year. Not easy stuff for a young girl. She did date a cousin for sometime but the "God" fear and the guilt precluded her from ever truly committing. It was interesting seeing this part of her. Even more interesting is she kept all of her wartime letters from soldiers she had written to. There were many.
At least 10 different boys. Most of them were from my father though. Its interesting to see the world through your 18 year old fathers eyes. Few people are able to do this. Sure you know what your father does through stories edited by him but when you read a letter written to his sister about the cute Wave he met at a bar named Mildred, my mother of course, you are changed trust me. Any way there is a story to tell here.
About a year ago I obtained another box of wartime letters. These too were written to a woman . I don't know this woman at all but from the jest of these letters the boys who wrote her were way more interested in her than the boys who wrote my aunt. She also has letters from her enlisted brother. From my quick scanning I surmise she was left to run the family orange groves in Redlands with her father. This woman must have had an air of confidence as all her letters are written to her instead of replies to letters from her. From what the auctioneer told me she was happily married for over 50 years and her and her husband had some success. I do need to do some research here.
Two different women with similar circumstances .What makes one a bitter old maid wishing she had traveled more and the other living a full interesting life. The courtship of my mother and father . A blazing 2 month courtship culminating in a 60 year marriage with its own set of tribulations.
Wartime stories of women are seldom told apart from the old Rosie the riveter stories. How I will pull it off I'm not so sure but the feeling this story needs to be told has not gone away in the 3 years its been formulating. An epic novel or maybe just short stories through the blog..hmmmm.....