July 27, 1947
My dear Ann Drew: The new Buick came a week ago last Thursday. It is some sort of supersonic model and the hind end sticks out of Ben Curtis' garage. . . Right off the bat Aunt Margaret wanted to drive the following Saturday to North Manchester to "see Ida." She telephoned Ida, who got us reservations at the local hotel for Saturday night, and up we went. . . to see Ida at the Peabody Home—an elegant place for a place of that character. Ida now is one of the oldest inhabitants and has a front room. . .After supper we drove all over town and a short way into the country and Ida liked that very, very much. Then back to the home where the evening's conversation ran to bad eyesight, constipation and poor circulation, and Ida was worried about contracting some drug habit. Aunt M. suggested whiskey to my utter surprise, and Ida countered she would be afraid she would contract the whiskey habit. The field narrowed down to fruits and fruit juices. . .
Next morning, we took Ida for a good long ride in the country. Then started for home. Things went fine until we got past Wabash on our way to Peru, and Aunt Margaret's conscience began to catch up with her, and she started quoting: "The Lord made Heaven and Earth in six days and on the 7th He rested . . . Six days shall thou work and . . . remember the Sabbath to keep it holy (etc.)" —Really, sometime she had taken a good deal of trouble to learn all her quotations—they lasted most all the way into the edge of Peru. Finally, I said: "If I felt that way about it, I wouldn't take any more Sunday trips"—and she agreed heartily. . .
Somewhere between Kokomo and Crawfordsville, Aunt Margaret suggested that we "come by Frank's orchard south of Morton and get some Early Transparents," as she wanted to make a little jelly. To do that we would have to go out of our way and over a lot of loose gravel and through a lot of dust with the new shiny car, so, after a proper interval, I said: "Well, I don't know whether you would want to do that on Sunday or not"—just like a first class undertaker would say it. She thought a moment and then said: "That is right. I forgot. We can let that wait until some week day."
Between Crawfordsville and home she suggested that "we go out to Arcola next Sunday and see Aunt Laura and George." I let that one go and it was agreed she would write Aunt Laura that night and tell her we were coming. . . She wrote, but along about Wednesday she asked me if I still wanted to go out to Arcola. I said: "That is up to you". . . Friday evening she called me over and wanted me to send a telegram to Arcola saying we would not be there Sunday—her conscience had caught up again. I sent the telegram, and that was that.
That morning bright and early, Frank came over and, after the proper preliminaries and maneuvering, told me several of the VFW were going to Lebanon, about 40 miles from here, Saturday to a District Meeting; that he was to be installed District Provost, or some such thing; that the back seat of his new Ford was not very comfortable; that he was to take five of them along with him; that five would make it very crowded and uncomfortable in that small a car; that on LONG trips a Ford didn't ride as easily as a larger car; and that he was just wondering if he might take the Buick for a long hard drive like that, etc., etc. Lord! How my sympathy for those old veterans—two of whom were over 30 years of age—welled up in my throat and almost stifled me. Of course they couldn't be asked or expected to submit to the jolting and short wheel base of a brand new Ford on a trip of that character. I suggested soft pillows and plenty of wool blankets, and offered to ask Mrs. Pierce or George McHaffie, who drive cars (both octogenarians) to do the driving and see after the parking and care of the car on arrival so those foot-sore and war-wracked shells of their former selves should be put to a minimum of pain and inconvenience.
Result: They went in the Buick. It rained like hell. Frank took the Buick home and washed it, then came past Aunt Margaret's and told her what a nice ride they had had. Then home to put the car part of the way in Ben's garage.
Further result: Aunt Margaret called me at 1 p.m. today and asked if I wanted to drive down to Shakamak State Park, about 30 miles south of Terre Haute. I told her it looked like more rain—and it did—and then asked if she wanted to drive that far on Sunday. She actually laughed out loud, said she had forgotten, and to just let it go. Time to quit, Pap
FOR CLARITY'S SAKE
August 13, 1947