September 8, 1933 - Friday

Postmark Sept 9, 1933

To GLH – Portlnad

From AEP – Berkeley

Friday

George dearest,

Do you mind if I unload my heart to you? It’s so heavy. It isn’t the brave thing to do but I can’t pretend to you even if you aren’t here to read it in my eyes. Darling, I’ve missed you so terribly today! I have been so blue and heavy hearted and for no particular new reason just that you are so far away I’ve needed you so badly. My heart aches so I can hardly stand it. Sweetheart, are you ever so lonely for me that you ache to have me with you? If you do tell me and when! Tell me what you feel and what you think so that I won’t feel so distant! O, if I could only talk to you instead of putting it down in letters on paper. It’s my arms I want to use and not my fingers. It’s all so confusing when you try to be sane and rational about it. Of course, it is the only right way. If we were two other people we might be worried but then if we were two other people we wouldn’t be in love with each other and as long as it’s each other we’re in love with we have to do it this way. I’m not complaining but if only “this way” didn’t include this separation. These next five years or so leave me feeling so blank and lost. It seems so dull and unsatisfying to have no interest in one’s own immediate future. Of course there’s house keeping to learn but that won’t take five years. If there were regular intervals in which I knew I were going to see you that would at least give me something to look forward to. Now I don’t know when I am going to see you again.  That one tho’t alone about kills me. I don’t think I can stand to wait until next summer!

I’ve been raving on like a baby but if you will forgive me, it has helped. Darling, I do wish you would unload to me when you want to like you would if I were there and you had some problem to face. I love you!

My diary for today is short, dear. I went to the market this morning (in the absence of Mom), I read “Flowering Wilderness” most of the day, and then went to a show with June and Florence Cresap. Maybe it is the idleness that makes me blue. It gives me time to dwell on my loneliness. Maybe when I get up to the Lake I will be so busy I won’t have a chance.

Lover, do you like to swim at night when there is a moon and it’s nice and warm? It’s wonderful. Shall we do it when you come down next summer?

All my love, dear

Ann

The Stevens

The World’s Greatest Hotel

Michigan Boulevard - 7th Street to 8th Street

Telephone Wabash 4400

Chicago, Sept. 8, 1933

Dear Mom,

I just have a minute in which to drop you a few lines. I am still alive, but there has been very little spare time in which to write.

Jim and I will leave here today for Omaha by way of a bus. His folks are visiting there, and we will drive home from there. We will probably reach Portland about the 16th or 17th.

It looks very much as though they are going to loan me some money back here. It will be $450, no interest, and start paying it back a year from now. I hate to do it, but I see no other graceful way of getting money. I only hope I will be able to pay it back on time.

You keep asking me about the heat. Well, I haven’t had a dry piece of clothing on me for five days. In fact, it is almost more than I can stand to move this pen - I am liable to drown any minute. It has been wonderful up to a few days ago, but the weather is beyond your powers of imagination, Mom. I wouldn’t live back East here for any reason.

See you soon,

Love, Brother