Nov. 28, 1969

As mentioned, it's been a busy month.  But as I sat here, while CavanaghSpawn2.0 slumbers peacefully in her bouncy chair, I thought - Hey why don't I type up one of Mom's letters?  And I'm so glad I did.  This one really tickled me.  I'm going to share the whole, because I think it's so wonderful.  In just a few paragraphs, she shows how she's so innocent - new discoveries about the postal system, cataloging wedding gifts - yet enduring so much as a 21 year old new wife worrying about her husband a million miles away.  And I love love love the postscript.  Side note, I have no idea who Mrs. Giarla, the Petersons, or the Cyrs are.

Nov. 28, 1969

Dear Dick,

    I found out that I don’t have to use air mail stamps.  I’m only paying postage from Salinas to San Francisco.  The rest of the way it goes military.  I may try the same experiment your mom did.

    I got found pieces of silver with the monty the Petersons gave us tonight - a serving fork, a table spoon, a gravy ladle, and sugar spoon.  It came to $81.  I’m sure you can’t get excited about it, but it is nice.

    We also got another wedding gift in the mail - a set of butter dish, salt and pepper shakers, and a bowl - of stainless.  It’s from the Cyrs.  Very nice.

    You know, I just can’t comprehend that you really are so far away.  I think it’s because of last year when you were at Benning and Ord.  I must still think of it in that way.  But Mrs. Giarla was right when she said it would be different.  I miss you more - physically - than I ever did before.  But then I feel that you are here with me - or within me.  I’ve mentioned that.  It’s like something bottled up inside me - sometimes I just want to yell…

    Goodnight my dear sweetie-pie.  Be safe.  I love you very much.

   

Love,

Candice

X

P.S. Why don’t you address my letters to Mrs. R.H.Ray?

Catching up Stateside and Kitchen Renovation Day 1

The first few weeks that my dad was in Vietnam, it turns out, he was in kind of a military limbo.  He didn't know where he was going to be assigned and couldn't give my mom any kind of "permanent" address.  That in and of itself wasn't particularly interesting, except that it meant that the first dozen or so letters are kind of like ships passing in the night.  Mom received letters from Dad, but she had to wait to send hers to him.  I was kind of amazed how much was written about finances - what money Dad was sending home, how she was meant to cover bills and what would go to savings and that she should let him know if she found she needed more.  Just one of those little insights into how a couple works.  When I was growing up, money was never an issue between them, at least not that I ever saw.  So it's kind of interesting to see the foundation of that trust and communication being laid between them as newlyweds.  In some ways I find it sort of intimate.  

And then there was this (from Mom to Dad):

I was checking the ‘69 calendar.  It seems I’m a bit overdue for the World series.  Only 4 days since I should have had one if I were still on the pills.  I’m saying that my system is used to being off of the pills, I feel symptoms of a “series” - it’s just a matter of waiting for it to show up.  Wouldn’t it be too much if?  That we don’t need at a time like this.  I’ll keep you posted. 

If you only had to read that once, then good for you.  I had to read it 3 or 4 times,  so very confused and all the while figuring the math and think that the World Series would have been well over by the time this letter was written on November 16.  But then it dawned on me.  Yes, it would have been too much, and definitely not what they needed.  Spoiler alert: she wasn't pregnant.

But it's just one of those things I'd love to ask her.  What was that like?  What was it like to be sitting there for 4 days, thinking that you could possibly be pregnant, your husband a million miles away and the future so uncertain.  At a time when minutes probably dragged by already, they must have become glacial.    

In other, more modern news, kitchen construction is underway here in the EFPN (Eventually Fashionable Petworth Neighborhood). 

The first two pics are from when we first moved in.  Just for reference.

I didn't get my act together to snap any photos this morning.

Just a little different.

There's no going back now.

 

This room is so gross.  The carpet needs to be burned.

And now for something a little different...

The whole crafting thing has taken a bit of a backseat to life in general these days.  Growing a new human while caring for an existing small human, planning house renovations, trying to sort out getting my parents' house sold, while fitting in time for husband, friends and fun does not leave a lot of time and energy for much else.  There's been some dabbling in craftiness, but largely free moments are spent on the couch playing iPhone games.

 

But there is this.  I've taken on a project that is going to take a crap load of time, but I find so fascinating.  In cleaning out my parents' house, I have become the custodian of all of the letters that were written between my mother and father from November 1969 through October 1970, when my dad was doing his tour of duty in Vietnam.  

My parents were 22 when he left.  They had been married just 5 months.  I find this unfathomable.  And yet they endured it.  Reading and typing these letters reminds me of the e-mails I used to write to my high school boyfriend (a year younger than me in school) who was back in the Seacoast of New Hampshire while I spent my freshman year in Williamsburg, VA.  Moaning and groaning about how hard it was, how much I missed him and counted the moments until we were together again.  Christ, what a wuss I was. 

Dad's time spent in Vietnam was never a secret, and it never seemed to trouble him much the way you hear about other Vietnam Vets being really negatively affected by the war.  But the details of that time were not spoken of often - or perhaps I was so self-centered I never bothered to pay attention to them.  I'm learning so much about his experience that I never knew before and while I don't think there's any possible way I could have had more respect for my father or my mother, I'm really glad to be able to see what this time in their lives was like.

It's very strange to think of my folks as people in their young 20's, completely unaware of the life that is to come ahead of them.  The children, the house, the careers, the grandchildren, the cancer.  It's all looming out there in front of them and they don't even know it.  Wild stuff.  Anyway, I thought it would be fun to share some excerpts from the letters.  Hopefully nothing that will betray the personal nature of what is written in them, but maybe some fun little nuggets and my thoughts about them.

So I'll leave you with the last paragraph of the first letter my dad wrote from Vietnam.  After relating  his journey over there and his initial impressions of the country he writes, "Well, Bub, that’s about all I can think of to tell you right now."  Before October 2010, I had never heard my dad call my mom "Bub," nor did I know he ever had.  But there was something about her getting sick, about their relationship coming full circle, that made him pick the nickname back up again.  I don't know where it came from or why he started calling her that so many years ago, but he began again after her diagnosis and lovingly referred to her as "Bub" even as she lays in hospice.  Seeing it there in print was incredible for me.

Well, Bub, that’s about all I can think of to tell you right now.  I think of you quite often, but I can honestly say that I don’t have that sick feeling of missing you.  And I’m really pretty glad.  I’ve got enough things over here to make life unpleasant without that. Maybe it means that my love for you has matured out of some previous adolescent form.  All I can say is I hope it keeps up, because it will make things a heck of a lot easier all around.  I’m sort of in a dream right now, things have been happening so fast.  I still don’t realize that I’m in Vietnam, half-way around the world.  I love you more than ever before, Bub.