March 9, 1942

San Francisco, California
Who was that gal, anyway, that suggested I write a diary – or journal, or whatever you call it? She didn't know what she was letting me in for, I'm sure. It's lots of work if anyone should ask you, and I'm afraid I have so little time to give to compiling my little bit of information that I'm not going to be able to make it (this journal) very interesting or informative.
Today is my darling sailor boy's [Mago's son-in-law who was working in Pearl Harbor with rdio communications in 1941 and-42] twenty-fourth birthday. He's really a dear and I hope he has many happy returns of the day.
I just finished a pair of socks that I made him, but they're not for his birthday – they're part of his Christmas. I gave him a rain check for two pairs and now it looks as though I'm never going to get caught up on my birthdays. Since all of the children are away I feel I must be sending them something all of the time to let them know they have a mother. I know it's silly, but I can't help but feel closer to them when I'm sewing or knitting something for them.

I've made Stephen a little mule that everyone says is very cute, and I'm dying to send it to him. It's so silly I know to be in such a hurry, for he's so very tiny yet – not two months old until the 18th, but I fear I'll have to send the mule very soon – or pop. Of course, I'm sending one of my silly little jingles which was inspired by the little mule itself and memories of my Grandfather Kreigh's old yellow horse that he called "punkin", because it was about the color of a pumpkin. I can see him still _ a tall heavy man with deep set dark brown eyes and grey beard – sitting in his old buggy with one foot hanging out the side. He'd take his cane and poke old Punk in the rump and say "Git up, Punk", and Punk's gate would never vary a fraction of an inch. When Punk saw another vehicle approaching, she'd pull up to the side of the road so the person could say "Top of the Morning" to old George, as my grandfather was affectionately called by all the countryside. He was a pioneer. Born in Hagerstown, Maryland, January 2, 1809 (his parents were born in the United States and some of the family fought in the Revolution, but the family originally came from Germany. However, my grandfather could neither read nor write nor speak German, (so I judge the family may have been very early settlers). He moved to Columbus Indiana when a very young man and it was there he met my grandmother Zerelda Gabbert. Of her I know very little, since she died before my father and mother were married, but I should have interrogated my father's Aunt Josephine Kitchen, my grandmother's sister and then perhaps I would know a little more. This much I do know. The Gabbert family decided to move further west and my grandfather and grandmother were married in Columbus and did not leave the Hossier state, Goodness! How I have degressed.