Dear Folks,
I am writing you to tell you next to nothing. I spend my time censoring other people’s mail and am a hard-bitten, wizened-up, old meany when it comes to letting thru information. So I can’t help but practice what I preach.
We are on the high seas now, en route to an unknown place. But we’re having a good time at it. The officers have it very easy and live in excellent quarters. There are thousands of books floating around. Good ones, and free. I have been reading a great deal. Fiction, history, poetry. Feel almost as tho I was back in school.
Don’t remember that I told you that I liked the picture you sent of silly Aunt Nettie and grinning Bob. He was wearing his jacket in which he keeps the “one rose that lived in his hear,” I see. Ask him if he still has it there. You know that I got to see Laura and her beautiful, bouncing babies before we left. Greg is the best little boy I know.
I hope everything is fine with Marjorie and that she is happy with Grammie and you folks.
I am very interested in the doings of old Bob. Maybe he has a new and better job by now. I figure he’ll do all right, anyway. He always knows what’s best.
I understand I graduated from U.N.H. a few days ago! That’s good. I intend to aim at a master’s degree next. In educational psychology.
This sea-sickness theory is just a lot of talk as far as I’m concerned. Old “sea-legs” Russ they call me. Sea life really appeals to me—it’s beautiful. (Hope I don’t have to regret those words some stormy day.)
You loving son,
Wallace
Wallace's Tent on Salisbury Plain
Writing a letter with candle on clipboard, see Oct. 16 letter
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