Click on any of the pictures to read them better.
In this envelope, I found a letter my mom had written to her mother in 1951. She used to wallpaper people's houses, to make extra money.
In the first page of the letter, she tells all the work she's done before she leaves to paper somebody's house. She doesn't mention the fact that she and my dad were "Central", the switchboard operators for the community telephone company. A job that could be a handful, all by itself.
Here's what cracks me up, on page two: "I've been feeling so punk. Don't know if I'm tired, lazy, or sick."
Good grief, Mother. You've done more in that morning than I usually do in a week. You're tired!
And she had to mention fried chicken. Hers was the best. Actually, it was about the only meat we ever had when I was small. I got the job of plucking the scalded chicken. Wet, scalded chicken feathers... one of the more unpleasant odors I know of.
Oh, and I can't believe my mom wrote to Grandma and didn't even mention her darling, beautiful little seven-year-old daughter... me. Since she was so busy, I guess I'll forgive her.