From Dad to Mom on their wedding day.
September 14, 1958
Dearest little Elsa-bug,
For an old airline type to give his bride a train case may seem an outrageous apostasy, but here it is. I’ve been wising it could be all fitted out with the proper gee-gaws and do-dads, but now I’m sorta glad it’s empty.
Maybe you can look inside and see it all brimming over with hopes and dreams for the big trip we are starting together and for all the little side trips through the years. Down in the corner is a little package; a few months of memories.
Soon, the accumulating memories will be all mixed up with the hopes and dreams, like two shades of powder spilled together. Then, perhaps sometimes you can look inside this little case and see all of us, and what we have been, and are, and dream of being together.
Oh, hon, I love you so. I wish I could say that the way we will walk together will be broad and smooth, with no storms. And yet, I know it cannot be thus, and really deep down, I wouldn’t want it to be so simple.
Hand in hand we’ll walk over all sorts of roads, get muddy and dusty, be snowed on and sunburnt, be hungry and thirsty sometimes, and tired. And yet, together, it will be a good walk. Our steps will falter near the end, and we’ll have to sit in the fields and rest. But we’ll be able to look back through the hazy years and know that it’s been a good road.
So, then, darling – do you have your hiking shoes? Shall we go?
Always love today and forever,