34 Ruth prepares pheasants for dinner

October 22, 1934

Dear Corinna,

Monday morning—I am washing and it’s a nice day. Myrtle A. told Harriet they think Bobby is a little better. I thot so because I saw no light there during the night. Muriel Slinden is the nurse—a sister of Bernice. I am washing Myron’s Basket Ball Clothes and it takes so long that I have time to sit and write a little. They start practice this week.

Mrs. Robertson was at church and played last night. The sermon was on The Prodigal Son. Myron skipped church last night—out with a Willmar girl—regular bum, I call him. I’ll have to remember to tell him what the sermon was about.

Monday eve—

I didn’t have as much spare time this morning as I thot I had. Daddy had gotten 2 pheasants from Mr. Ploss and I had them to prepare for dinner. But I got them ready in time. Daddy didn’t get a hunting license. He just went along and didn’t hunt.

This afternoon I went in and saw Bobby. His fever is down to 101 now. It’s quite hard for him to breathe. But they are sure he will get well if he keeps on like this.

Elvira and Beatrice Ann came at about 4:30 this afternoon and visited till Howard came to get them. Yes, I think it would be nice if you’d send them a card too. You know Elvira gave you those bloomers just before you left.

Glad you are doing so well in typing. Helen Lund and Genevieve were home this weekend. Genevieve told Myron she wished she didn’t have to go back—said she hated it there. Am afraid she and Helen had it too soft at home and it’s harder for them to fit in. And they have only Friday evening and Sat. afternoons off and that’s quite different for them. More than ever you can realize how lucky you are to be among your own folks this year.

You never mentioned your toe in your last letter which proves it’s of no importance anymore. Glad if it is healing as you think. Winnie let me read Aunt Ev’s letter and we giggled together over it. It was full of fine points as usual.

Now this is Tuesday and your letter isn’t mailed yet. I’m getting to be terrible. Mrs. Geo Jones told me some time ago that for the first year Marion was away from home they wrote to each other every day and then now it has gotten to be twice a week. I can hardly imagine dignified, unemotional Mrs. Jones doing that—so I guess we’re not so extreme are we?

Myron is still contemplating the storm window job. He has set this noon for the starting point. Well we shall see if we can bring ourselves to it. I’ll let you know in the next letter.

Love from Mother.