[postmarked March 6, 1944]
Sunday – 1:45 PM.
Dear Helen –
Up this morning to find the sun shining albeit the temperature still down. Ate breakfast and then back to bed until 9 o’clock – then a nice hot shower, a close shave (feel!), dressed and nothing to do – So – I’ve been reading the paper – Hm-m. I see there’s a war going on somewhere.
Sunday is a wonderful day. I am left alone. I can do as I please (up to a certain point) – All I need now is to meet you in front of Zlotnick’s Beautiful Basement. It seems like such a long time since those days.
Today’s inclosures are two more impressions of the last bivouac. The men always ask to see the sketches before I send them to you – in fact, they are beginning to look forward to them almost as much as you.
I hope that by now you’ve rested up from the rigors of that party – It sounded like an awful lot of work – with most of the burden on you – But, seeing as how it was such a success I know you believe it worth all the trouble.
Monday or Tuesday we’re going out on bivouac again – so you may expect another slight interruption in our communication – I don’t know how long we’ll be out – but it’ll probably be like the last one – So – I’m keeping my fingers crossed for good weather.
I think I’m getting “barrackitis” – these surroundings are beginning to pall on me – very dull and uninteresting – Today – I feel a creative urge – something that I haven’t felt much since I’ve been in the Army – I would like to paint or play the piano – I have neither the paints nor the place to paint – and it’s impossible to play at the Service Club without someone asking for “Mares Eat Oats”, “The Beer-Barrel Polka”, etc or other interruptions which come from playing in a room containing a few hundred people, – and including a radio and phonograph all trying to outdo the other in volume.
So, I try to smother these urges – but, it’s impossible to stop the restlessness that comes with it – I think I’ll try a plate of spaghetti in Tullahoma – Maybe, that’ll help – A queer antidote.