rudderless

Treasures

I imagine that all grandchildren have found themselves peeking into boxes on bookshelves, pulling drawers out of old dressers, looking for treasure at their grandparents house. I remember an overflowing box of Mardi Gras beads, an enormous vat of corks and swizzle sticks, scrabble tiles, rubber bands, and mountains of old photos. These days the treasures from my grandparents have been compressed into a spare bedroom at my parent’s houe. But the boxes are still there. I found this letter last night.

At Sea, North Pacific Ocean
9 November 1945

Dearest Edith,

I’ve been thinking these past few days that it didn’t seem quite proper to conclude this chapter of our life without one last letter to act as the period, or the “Finis,” as they used to put at the end of old time movies. The Landrums Jr. have won a war and had a baby in this chapter, so I don’t think anything can stop us from here on out. Do you?

My grandfather served on a minesweeper during World War II. He survived a typhoon and visited Japan after the surrender. It was the great adventure in his life. He had married my grandmother two weeks before Pearl Harbor, and now was returning from the South Pacific.

We are about halfway across and the lives of the 2,300 men aboard have settled into the routine of eating and sleeping, with a little time out for gossip and tending to one’s personal needs. We cross the 18oth meridian tonight so tomorrow will be the 9th also. It is quite cold, for the great circle course takes you up near the Aleutians, and we’ve hit something of a blow but compared to a YMS (minesweeper) it is just like a Pullman. You don’t even have to hold on to eat!

I still am awed by the immensity of this ocean. Here we have been pushiong 16 to 17 knots for a solid week and we are only half way across. The North Pacific is a lonesome expanse of water too for there is not a bit of land anywhere to relieve it.

Like you, I get “butterflies” when I think of calling you on the telephone within one week. I’ve already started jotting down the things I want to be sure and say so the five minutes won’t be completely wasted. It will be late at night when I call and it will take you at least two of the minutes to become rational.

Tell carrot top (my great-aunt is a redhead) she is really about to have a father. I love you for always, you wonderful woman.

P.S. If you should by chance let your children to be read these past four or five hundred letters- after they are grown, of course -don’t forget to do a proper job of censoring.

The postscript is what got me. Like he had written it knowing I would come along and carry away the boxes of his (and her) war letters. One day I will read them all, uncensored. The truest of treasures.