November 8, 1944 Wednesday

Dearest Honey,

The dope here tonight is that Frankie is still in good standing for another four years. That should give him time to patch up the world. What will the Republicans do now that their fair-haired boy has come and gone?

The situation here is normal – our first snow came today. The slushy, muddy kind that doesn’t please anybody. I had my moustache trimmed up a little yesterday – it is now just about the way I want it; not too big, not too small.

Another gap has come in your letters, so I am waiting for an armful someday to make up for it.

Actually, honey, there is so little I can talk about now that it is hard for me to write. I am pretty well “saturated” by military things that aren’t letter topics, and I don’t have the outside activities to get my mind from them to more acceptable topics.

I have tried our remedy of thinking over things we have done, and succeeded a couple of times in getting downright homesick. Most of the time it makes me feel good, tho.

Tonite Buck and I went to an American movie up at the mess hall. Lionel Barrymore in “Three Men in White” – fairly good. Coming to our tent we wished like everything we were back in the states, and discussed our chances of getting back. Even if the fighting is over soon, we dismally figured it would be some time. We would have cried in our beer, if we could get any beer. Knowing this was not possible, we just came back and are getting ready to crawl into our sleeping bags.

The tallow you will probably see on this paper – if it photographs, that is – is from the candle I am writing by. Makes me feel like Abe Lincoln, somehow.

Well, goodnite, Honey. I love you always, don’t forget. And distance or time doesn’t effect it in the slightest, except to make it seem greater and more important.

Every bit of my love,
Wallace