Spitball Army

Azalea bed beside the mailbox: a layer of rubber bands, no new ones. In the days before social media, my mail needed unbridling.

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Card is titled: “Post Office, Charleston, S.C. 4A-H1400.”

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I can’t think this morning. I guess I have too good a case of Spring Fever.

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I had some good sunny-side eggs this morning and the weather outside is nice.

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Dr. Anderson took the other 4 stitches out this morning. He thought it was looking good and he told me I didn’t have to carry it in the sling any longer.

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I haven’t received any mail since I wrote yesterday morning and all that I have done since then is eat, sleep, play cards, go to the show, and wash clothes.

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Everybody is on liberty and the place is pretty empty.

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I suppose Dad told you that I was now in the Printing business. Big Deal!!

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Do you remember how large the patch was on my arm where I couldn’t feel the point of a pin? Well, it isn’t quite 1/3 as big now.

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I don’t know how much I can write so I won’t write much. Someday I should be able to tell you all about it. All I can say is that I participated in the landing on Okinawa.

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