This morning's post is late because I've been driving in snow--up and down hills, and around sharp curves, and avoiding wild turkeys--so that Paul could catch a bus to a track meet. This particular snow was forecast to be flurries yet clearly was not. Still, it was not freezing rain, and the temperature was a moderate 25 degrees, and I was driving in daylight, and the grocery store was empty at 8 a.m., so for a change I was not accosted by peculiar small men in camouflage hats asking me if the new Sound of Music has been released on DVD or begging for advice on canned goods.

I spent a chunk of the weekend reorganizing the bookshelves; and believe it or not, I even managed to choose a whole boxful for the Goodwill. I won't tell you the names of any of these discards because I don't want to make them feel bad. But when I opened one, I found a letter from a high school friend whom I haven't heard from for years. Dated 15 July 1982, it is two pages long, closely handwritten on United States Army stationery. A forgotten epistle from basic training! Here's a sample of what I learned:

Sunday we went to battalion competition. (There are 7 companies in a battalion, each company had a platoon to represent it.) We lost that but came in a close second. We felt that we had won but we didn't. We were hoping to beat those 5 male companies because no female company in the last 9 cycles of training has won. OK enough of that. July 3rd we went to a large field on post and watched the fireworks. We also sat next to a male company by the end of the night the 2 companies were rather close.

There's quite a bit more of interest, including a description of tear gas training, but I'm not going to share it now because I foresee that a letter like this could be a useful primary source in my western Pa. project--something along the lines of "Eighties Girl from Fayette County Joins the Army." Not that my friend was from Fayette County but I can readjust. Just having the voice is such a gift. I wonder where she is now.