29 August 1948

My own Darling Cyclone,

Whew!  Gosh, thanks for being you, my love.  What a week we had!  I never dreamt that so much could be done in so little time.  I keep thinking of you going back to work tomorrow morning.  I hope you wont be too exhausted.  I know it was rough on you, especially since, as a rule, you go to bed rather early.  But, oh my dearest, it was wonderful, and well worth the lack of sleep, don’t you think?

Honey, I’m sure we can go the rest of the way to May, without further occurrences like our recent one.  I shan’t even try to describe how miserable I felt, watching you break down.  What a helpless feeling!

We will have no more of that I’m sure.  It’s too much for us to take.  Sincerely though sweetheart, the toughest part is past.  We haven’t too long to wait now and I’m sure that after seeing you the other night, that all will be ok.

Honey, we sailed right on time, darn it!  And I got to bed promptly at 11:00p.m..  Was I tired?  A little!  The next day I compiled the following:

There are approximately, 8 months, 34.8 weeks, 244 more breakfasts alone, 5,856 hours, 351,360 minutes, 21,081,600 seconds until you are mine forever!  Your love, and BED, HERE I COME!!!

Yours alone, forever,

Dave.

14 August 1948

14 August 1948

Darling Cyclone,

If you should feel a warm, sweet, all enveloping blanket of content, fall over you some evening about 6:30 p.m., you’ll know that my thoughts of you are reaching all the way up there and tugging at your heart saying, “Hey Cyclone, be of good cheer, I’m way down here but I think of you more than you ever hope, and I love you with a love that is an ever-increasing, not to be denied, flame!”

I think of you often during the day, every day, but when the end of twilight comes and Jupiter creeps into the golden moon glow, you are beside me, I can feel you, I know you are there, and my heart sings.

In fact one night, when the helmsman made seven bells, and the lookout answered bell for bell and sang out, “All’s clear, calm night, lights are bright sir!”, my heart sang so strongly for joy of our mutual, beautiful love, that I made up a song on the wing of the bridge, while watching the birth of an evening.  I’ll sing it to you some time, if you can stand it.

Cyclone My Cyclone

I love you so-I guess you know,

How I stumble through each day,

Whenever I’m away.

But when evening rolls around,

And lays its curtain down,

I dream a dream,

A Technicolor dream,

A dream about,

Cyclone-My Cyclone,

I’m living for the day,

I come ashore to stay,

Then I’ll never take

My arms away-from,

Cyclone-My-Cyclone! 

Oh well, at least you know I love you and that you are in most of my thoughts in some way each day.  You asked me to pray for you darling!  Remember.  Well, except for the mornings when we have been docking ship or something, I’ve been to Mass and Communion every day, both in Thanksgiving, for you, to God, and as a love gift to my cyclone.

I pray especially hard at that part of the Mass where the Priest takes the paten, makes the Sign of the Cross on himself and says, “Grant of thy goodness, peace in our days, that aided by the riches of thy mercy, we may be always free from sin and safe from all disquiet”.

Gosh!  I’ve missed your letters since you lost my addresses.  When you get the next list, write them on the wall of your bedroom, you can’t lose that.

Speaking of your bedroom, I still recall fondly, the luscious nights’ sleep I had in your bed, with my head on your pillow, your perfume around me and a Technicolor dream inside me.

About 259 more days my darling cyclone, and you’ll be mine forever.

Goodnight my life,

I love you, my wife,

Forever,

Dave