Since you have been gone (from this blog?) for such a long time, I nearly forgot what we were “talking” about. Let it be known that in your absence (was it soon 30 years or 3 weeks since I had last heard from you?) I remain grateful for your perspectives. It seems I still need to hear your maternal chatter, to listen to you chide Pops, and to remember how tickled pink you were to become a granny.
Returning to your upbeat perspective on life in 1942, I realize too that I am free to use a lace handkerchief however I choose. That's something we hold in common. I don’t have to leave it with Babcia, or even in a semi-private room at a convalescent hospital with mother Anne, for you to understand. I can drop it and forget it, or drop it in the hope that some handsome young man will retrieve it. Whether by accident or by choice, I can still remember where to go back and retrieve it. I can also wave it before my enemy. To capitulate: what I believe we can both appreciate most is the quality of the fabric itself, the craftsmanship…like your garden and your jingles.
Thanks for leaving your diary, a lace handkerchief, behind. Between your entries and Letters from Iwo Jimo I have more than enough food for thought tonight, and tomorrow is another workday.
Love,
Your devoted granddaughter
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