Letter to me from my mother: January 13, 1979

Dear Dona ((I was student teaching in England)),

We woke up to another snow storm ((This was the Chicago Blizzard of 1979)) . We already have 39 1/2 inches on the ground ((I think that’s a little high based on what I just read in the earlier link, and here’s another)). (That is accumulation since the first of winter). Snow fell all last night and is supposed to continue today and tonight.

Your dad took the van to get a new windshield this morning. On the way up north we were going under an overpass just as snow and ice fell down on us and cracked the window — also scared the hell out of us.

When I got home from work on Monday there was a note to call your Aunt Pat. She had fallen Sunday night when she took a garbage bag out to the street. I waited til 3 o’clock and picked Kevin up in case I needed help with her. When we got to her house she answered the door. She had a slipper on her foot because it had swelled. At the hospital I couldn’t find a close parking so I dropped her and Kevin by the emergency entrance. They had to walk up a steep ramp (I didn’t know until later that I could have driven right up to the door). Anyway to make a long story short (we were there in the emergency room until 7) she ended up with a broken ankle and will be in a cast from 6 to 8 weeks.

You’re right, Dona, Cinder doesn’t miss you ((Cinder was my black cat. I don’t remember thinking she wouldn’t miss me, but I guess I must have predicted correctly)). She spends most of her time downstairs being scratched and petted. She is even friendly with your dad.

There was an article in the Courier News this wee about your friend from Carlson’s Paint Store complete with pictures of him dressed up as Frankenstein’s monster ((This was someone I knew from the Manor Restaurant where I waited tables. He was a bit of an asshole, but kind to me. He used to wear stilts and dress as Frankenstein’s monster)).

Our TV burned out last night. The picture went black and it snapped and crackled. I was afraid to touch it. After I turned it off the room smelled like burnt plastic.

Purcell’s address is Box 308, Minocqua Wisconsin 54548.

This has to be short — your dad wants to leave.

Take care — I hope everything is O. K.

Love,
Mom

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