September, 1975. From Mother to her daughter, Grace.

Our letter writer was born in 1898, earned a college degree, owned and ran her ranch in Montana, and wrote her adult daughter every single week as if the postal service were an extension of her spine. Her love language was frankness, the kind that critiques hospital food, questions (these new fangled things called) contact lenses, and still remembers to notice the birds passing through on their way south.

In this 1975 letter, snow drifts, red Jello, funerals, football games, and mild indignation over medical bureaucracy all share the same stage. It reads like a scene from a film where the mother is strong, sharp, funny, occasionally exasperating, and loving in the most practical way possible, which is to say she never stops paying attention. That’s her love language.

September 1975

Sun – 2:30 PM

Dear Grace,

I’ll put this in with Mr. H’s letter (which you needn’t return).  It’s a cloudy, gloomy chilly (48 degree) afternoon here, but hasn’t rained and the snow all went yesterday except for a drift along the wedge of the garage.

My day has followed the usual routine – church (at 10:30) lunch & a nap & I just now “did” my noon dishes and am making some red Jello to take to Sandy’s – am invited there to eat at 5:30 & Sandy will pin up my hair if I get it washed.  Brad isn’t leaving till Tuesday so Craig can use the El Camino to go to Miles City tomorrow for a check-up on those contact lenses (which were an unnecessary expense in my estimation).  However, not really my business.  Like you, I’d much prefer being “out” for any surgery.  Can’t see that the spectator attitude of observing would help any & just make a person more “keyed up” & nervous.

With room for 35 patients and less than ½ full why should they inflect a “coughed” (and even “throw-upped) on you? & for $50 a day, yet!  Those are the inconsiderate, stupid things hospitals do that make me eager to keep out of them.  I’ve always wanted to have a room alone & none of that waking one up at night when they “check on” the roommate.  And then not being able to get an aspirin – not the Dr’s. orders.  It surely could not have made her any more sick and would probably have helped the headache.  More stupid hospital routine.  And I think they needn’t have exposed you to coughing.  I’ve always thought it stupid the way they bring in food enough for hungry farm hands – a senseless waste of food.

I’ve been thinking you had a month of being “on the lift” with that valley fever & had to be even less active, so this period of enforced quiet should go faster than that.  So, I’d recommend you just relax & take it one day at a time.  Even 4-6 weeks isn’t a long time in relation to a lifetime.

You’re comment on baths reminds me of a story your Dad told me about a fellow coming out of a bedroom wash basin in hand remarking “a bath is so refreshing.”  Better than none, no doubt.  Alec thought it quite funny, tho it was years before they had a regular bath tub.

As I write, the birds are flittering thru the bushes eating those red honeysuckle berries & the berries will soon be gone.  There have been several “out of towner” birds I don’t recognize & ones on the way south, no doubt.

Sandy & I went to Mrs. Delaney’s (Barb Overton’s mothers) funeral service yesterday AM.  She was lucky to go quickly; had been “ailing” for a while.  Barb’s sister (unmarried & has a job in Conn) came a week or 2 ago so had a “last visit” with her mother.  Then Sandy went to watch Brian play in a football game and stayed for the whole game, which I think folly, standing in that damp chilly air.  She is often lacking in what I’d call good judgement.  If her arthritis is worse, one dare not suggest she brought it on herself.

I phoned Tom last eve. (to see if the phone still worked after the snow & it did).  He was just cooking supper & I didn’t talk long – seemed to be getting along OK.  I think it didn’t snow quite as much there as here.

Love Mother

That phone call was too long, I fear it tired you.