Letters

     Mail call was a big deal. Letters from home were treasured and read many times. The written word was the only way to keep in contact with those who cared enough to take a few minutes to put their thoughts on paper. I can still recall the people who posted me an envelope now and then. My mother wrote every month. Each came as a pleasant surprise. When I read them my mental voice took on her tones and my memories painted in her face. Not so much the others who took the time. There weren't many of them. Probably no more than three or four.
     Then there was Lois. Can't say that she wrote every day but she might have. Not always much to say but I didn't care. Her words conjured her image. Started a mental conversation that found its way through ink, paper and the mail back to her. In the Army our mail wasn't a regular, everyday stream. Not sure why but when there are two government agencies between people, like the U.S. mail and Army, unexplained things happen. 'Bout all you can do is shrug your shoulders and move on. Some days I'd get nothing. On others, maybe three. Regardless of flow, no one received more mail than me. Thank God for Lois.
     Mid-cycle we found ourselves in the snow and woods of the Rainier foothills, camped out in tents and praising the Lord for Army sleeping bags. Wasn't Minnesota cold at Fort Lewis but ten above'll hunker most any man deep in the protection of down and cotton. As usual, it was Earl and me under those joined shelter halves. Yeah, the Army didn't call them pup tents but that's what they were. No floor, front and back flaps, all held up by a pair of steel-tipped sticks. Earl brought a couple of cans of Sterno to burn with the idea a little fire would warm us up nicely. Can't say that it did but the blue flame sure was pretty. For decoration I brought the Dylan poster that came with his Greatest Hits album. Warmed us up about the same as the Sterno. Might have worked better had we burned the poster.
     I figured the reason behind our four-day bivouac had to do with acclimating us to field life. Of course I was wrong. Had it been a military training exercise you'd have thought no one would've been driven from the field to pull KP. Well, that's what I'd have thought but somehow I found myself on the back of a deuce and a half one dark, four a.m. morning and on the way back to B-4-3. Also wasn't one bit unhappy about it.
     Even in the field we received our mail. The day before my KP, I got a couple of letters from Lois. In one of them was her response to a question I'd asked her several times before induction. She said yes, she'd marry me and added we could hitch up when I was on my pre-Vietnam leave. Instantly turned me into a happy camper. When I told Earl his face formed that squinty-eyed look he always got when he was in the presence of stupidity. Though I explained to him I'd already popped the question and it'd taken Lois a few months to respond, he just didn't see it that way. Kept saying, "Women don't ask men to marry them; men do the asking. You got it all backwards Peters." I didn't care. All I knew was, come morning I was pulling KP and would have access to the pay phone hanging on the pole outside of the mess hall. So that's why I was on the back of a deuce and a half with a smile on my face.
     All I recall from the times I pulled KP was, expect the worst and you won't be disappointed. That and being thankful for the eight o'clock de-greasing shower. Anyhow, ten a.m. found me outside the mess hall with a pocketful of change. Boy was I excited. That lasted no longer than it took for me to dial the phone and Lois to say that she'd had a talk with her father. He was a WWII medic in the recapture of the Philippines and knew the score about combat. Didn't take him long to paint a picture of me in a body bag and her a widow with no more than a few days under her belt as a wife. Maybe a baby also. That was the long and short of it, heavy on the short. Oh well, I still had pots and pans to drown my sorrows in.