Love Letters: We Don't Know What Happened at Homecoming But Russ is on Fire

One in a series of old Love Letters that I bought at the flea market and am now transcribing for my nosiest friends.

Listen, I KNOW you want to know What Happened at Homecoming. You know I want to know What Happened at Homecoming. But, frankly, we have no way of knowing What Happened at Homecoming, because people don't usually recap events in letters to the people they just experienced those events with, sadly. That said, Russ is on fire post-Homecoming with tons of letters and notes and is basically making it rain in Karen's mail box

This letter is marked 1 of 5 on the envelope! He's ON FIRE, I tell you.

October 12, 1960

It’s my pre-anniversary! Exactly 42 years to the day before I married my husband. Awwww. 

Leibchen “K”

Russ continues his fine tradition of transposing the ei/ie in German words and instead of calling Karen “sweetheart”he calls her “camisole.” As an editor, this kind of thing amuses me. You could also choose to think Russ is sending a secret joke to her about the fact that he got her top off (but not her camisole) after the Homecoming dance. I'm open to both interpretations.

I’m starting this letter with the intention of finishing later today, after I get some sleep (i.e. it is 1:20 a.m., hence the date above). I didn’t get back to the dorm until 11 p.m. and consequently missed your call if it came. My room-mate wasn’t here either, so I have no way of knowing.

Oh, snap, did he kill that roommate?

Tomorrow, or later this morning to be consistent, I have my Chem. hourly. The first, what’s more. The reason I mention it is because it will ‘tell the tale’ — that is, whether to be optimistic about Chem. 124 or continue to be pessimism [sic]. My most optimistic attitude toward the course, right now, is what most people would regard as pessimistic, which all sounds like so much gibberish. Oh, well, can’t have everything. However, you can still wish me luck — luck in that the instructor who grades it will be lenient or blind and miss all the mistakes.

One of my room-mate's professors is blind. Imagine being judged by the sound of your voice and the foot-falls of your feet. My room-mate says he’s pretty good though.

Imagine being judged for being blind,? Seriously, though, I like this. Hope he adds more gossipy asides. 

This week promises to be dull. Nothing is happening, and I’ve got all kinds of work to do. I’ll be glad when Thursday’s over and I can relax a little. When the week is over, things will be better yet. Classes all day tomorrow. “Echh!” as Alfred E. Neuman might say.

Well, Sweetheart, now I’ve got to “retire for the night, morning, or whatever it is” and sleep — you know, “perchance to dream.” But, contrary to Hamlet’s plight, I have pleasant dreams. Why bother dreaming if we can’t dream pleasantly. Happier that way, right. Ok.

And sweet dreams to you. Take real good care of yourself and I’ll see again before you know it. Beunos noches, until later.

Love as ever,

Russ

I like that Russ is terrible at foreign languages but that does not slow him down one bit.