Letter # 448 August 11, 1944

New Guinea
Friday eve.
Aug. 11, 1944
My Darling wife;
Another day and another letter from my one and only.  July 31. They have been coming in better order the last few days.  Gosh, I like to get my sweetheart's letters. 
Nothing much to write about tonight so I'm going to try to get caught up on your letters.  July 27.  This was the night you were doing some cooking for me, up at Tibs.  Sounds darn good to me.  I wish you were cooking for me in our own home, both of us there, of course.  That'll be grand when it happens again.  From the sound of all you are going to do to me[ if you can put out as well as talk] I'll probably be in bed while you get breakfast.  I'll need all the extra rest I can get.  Remember, honey, I'm getting to be an old man.  I'll sure go down trying.  I can promise that.  I love you darling. 
By the way, how are Tib and Kelly and Terry?  What about Harry and his 1A classification?  In one of your letters you mentioned Bill Hartman being in Michigan.  Must be the draft skipped him for a time. 
You certainly are getting good when you sit down and write me two letters a day.  Long, 4, 5 or 6 page ones too.  Don't wear yourself out honey.  One a day, letters I mean, is plenty.  I'm not telling you not to write so much, I'm just saying that I don't expect that many.  I love 'em. 
I'm expectantly waiting for all those loves you are sending.  I bet you're a burden on the army mail system.  Letters by the pound and boxes by the ton.   Some swell girl, is all I can say. 
Here is another request for smoking tobacco, laundry soap, writing paper, pictures of my wife, and anything to eat. 
I'm sorry you don't get the same copy of Yank we get down here.  It has a lot about what is what in N. Guinea and the islands.  It also gives news of all the fronts, even the home front.  Keep your home front in good shape honey, cause one of these days they'll take an awful beating.  I could go for a lot of snoozling and I know I could hold out in that respect, at least. 
I can see there is some doubt in your mind about me keeping my promise to continue telling as well as showing.  I guess you have a right to be skeptical.  I never was much at talking.  I took it for granted too much that you knew how I felt.  I really am going to try to tell you.  It will probably take some prompting from you to keep me on the ball.  You can do that can't you?  I do mean all the things I say about you.  I'll furnish proof when I see you again.  I'm in love!
Gosh honey, you'd never make a good Sargent if that bawling out is the best you can do.  It was about the requests.  After this much army life, I don't even hear such a mild calling down.  A school teacher should be able to do better than that.  I know you're just too sweet and you love me.  Right? 
We are eating pretty good.  As was always the case with me, breakfast is the best meal.  Usually french toast or pancakes with eggs fried, about once a week.  The other meals don't appeal very much.  All canned or dehydrated stuff.  We do have quite a bit of canned or dried fruits.  Almost no green stuff.  All I've seen so far is some sort of chopped up greens that look a lot like bamboo shoots.  Don't like it anyhow.  I'll sure appreciate a plateful of fresh vegetables and lettuce, even a sandwich like you are always making. 
Honey, if you will only open an eye and look at me or act like you know I'm there in the morning, the funnies can go plumb to hell and I'm not kidding.  I wouldn't call you what you call yourself, but I can't say you are very congenial first thing in the morning.  I love you anyhow.  You're my wife. 
You asked for more information about Mac.  He's also from Statten Island and worked in a shipyard before the draft got him.  Ordinary high school education.  You know some of his habits.  Tiger man and etc.  He drinks some but not to excess.  For a good time.  Rather a good worker.  The only wrong thing is disposition.  Some times he's ok, but most of the time, argumentative and overbearing.  Has his own opinions and tries to make everyone see things his way.  Rather hot headed too.  Irish, you know.  I'd think that girl of his was letting herself in for a rather hen pecked existence.  He sometimes gets on my nerves and I don't have to live with him.  Don't think he'd be as nice to live with as I am.  Bragging now. 
I'm glad you had an opportunity to help Marg a bit.  We sure owe them a lot.  I'm glad she's coming out in such good shape.  Give them my greetings. 
Honey, you scare me.  Reading books like that one of Bill Batchelder's.  If you are learning so much from it you need to keep notes.  I thought you had learned about all there was to know.  At least the way you took care of me when I was home, indicated you knew plenty.  Almost more than I could handle then.  What will you be like now?  I'm impatiently curious to find out.  Whoops.  The news from the home front is really sounding good.  You don't know how much I'm loving and missing you.  One of these days I'll build myself a dugout canoe and take off for home. 
Unless you're kidding me about my letters, I'm much relieved.  To me, it seems I go pretty stale on this writing business and keep repeating myself over and over again.  I try not to but trying doesn't do much good in this case, I'm afraid.  Maybe we like to get the letters so much we just don't care what the words are.  Think that is it?  We can't be as good letter writers as we each think the other is.  In my estimation yours are perfect. 
Some of these days I'll have to take time out and try my luck on another picture for you.  You seem to like that one so much.  I'm curious to see how it photographed, myself.  You'll save it, I guess. 
Loving me isn't so much to be proud of but I don't think you need be ashamed of it either.  I'm only an average fellow after all. 
Bed time again honey.  Wish I could take you along so I could continue to talk with you and love you.  Probably forget all about talking.  Probably - hell.  I know I would.  For the present, lots of love and kisses.  The kind you like.  I love you, Chubbins.
Your hubby.
Norm.