Sept 20, 1943: when I’m alone I get morbid. Will write you what I do and when, if ever. (Sylvia, 1 of 2 parts)

Sylvia is waiting with Adrienne for Alex’s parents and siblings to arrive. Adrienne is all dressed up for the occasion and this letter is mostly her idle observations of the scene around her. She makes up a little song, she talks about the uniformed men walking around, and mentions that it hardly feels like there is a war going on at all. A woman next to her is telling dirty jokes (which I’m surprised didn’t make it into the letter.) She starts the letter at 3PM and closes it at 4PM saying the family has still not arrived. There are additional pages that she added later, after their visit, that will be in the next post. Sylvia sounds a bit bored and says she is being a good wife, not doing anything. Though she also mentions with some pride that she’s arguing with people around her and winning those arguments.

It really caught my eye that she says she isn’t reading the news, and talks about the war not really impacting everyday life in her piece of Brooklyn. I have been struggling with this dissonance lately – how to cope with horrible world events while going about everyday life. How to focus on being present and positive with my babies when my phone shows me horrifying images and tragedies every day. Of course, we need to live our lives and cannot become consumed by events (currently, and specifically for me) far away, but it feels crazy to carry on with normal life sometimes. These letters span years, and the war features only as a backdrop to the content. At times, they discuss world events but primary sources by their nature of being first hand accounts, only document a snapshot of the human experience.

The second half of this letter is filled with excitement, as well as inserted notes from family members in English, Hungarian, and Italian.

Sept 20 1943

Sunday 3PM

Hello, sailor – 

I’m sitting in the sun with the infant who’s asleep. She’s all dressed up in her new blue and white dress, blue anklets, pink sweater and her daddy’s handkerchief as a kerchief around her head. We’re both waiting for her grandma Rosner and her aunts and uncles to come to see her. We’ll write you later and tell you what happened after they got here. I sent your mother a card with your address on it, so don’t be surprised if you receive a letter from her. 

It’s a lovely afternoon, with babies in Carriages, women knitting, and sailors riding bicycles. There is no 

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Sign of war or war consciousness at all, except for the uniforms. But they only add color to an already colorful scene; the uniformed men look like gayly costumed promenaders. 

Baby has developed a new habit. She sings in a high wail and if you join in and sing with her, she laughs out loud. Anyway, she always sings. Also, when she gets angry, she uses that same high wail to call you in a very commanding tone and when you come, she laughs as if it’s a big joke. I’ll porbably take her to the doctor this coming week, and will write you 

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What takes place. 

I haven’t been reading the papers this week, so can’t write about the news. Do you get get the appears up there? Would you like me to send you any? I’ve been arguing with lots of people around here, and they’ve all been agreeing with me. Lucky me! Thrilling life, isn’t it? Anyway, I’m waiting to hear from Goldie, but so far, I haven’t heard anything – I’ll write her soon. (Annette is sitting at my side telling dirty jokes.) It’s almost 4PM and still no sign of your folks! …

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<Treble cleff and Music notes> 

Oh how I missed you last night

When the bottles were sterilyzed!

Oh, how I’ll miss you tonight

Oh my dear wish you were here at my side

So far I’ve been a good l’il wife. I haven’t gone anywhere or done anything, and believe me, dear, it’s a little boring. And I want to do things, because I miss you terribly, and when I’m alone I get morbid. Will write you what I do and when, if ever. 

Your adoring

Sylvia