wells that he doesn't think about other people being around. I don't think he sees very well, either. He usually goes out on the porch and does it, or if he has to-if he has to do something besides pee he uses the shrubs in the front yard. The other day I got out in the yard and stood a few feet away from him and waved my hands so that he could see that I could see him, but he kept right on. I think the whole trouble is that Pop is just forgetful.
Now, Mama, when you write him don't let on that I said anything, and don't say anything that will hurt his feelings. He's very sensitive. Just tell him to be sure and use the toilet. There's one right next to the telephone, downstairs, and there's another one upstairs right off the south bedroom. I believe that if you can make Pop understand that he's supposed to use them he will do so. I'd talk to him, but it's been so long since I was around him much that I hardly know how to any more.
I'm sending you a box of stuff. Nothing much, but I hope you can use it. They got in some imported Canadian hams at the No. 1 store the other day, and you ought to eat more meat, Mama, so I got one. Also put in some cigarettes and candy and other stuff because the box was too big and I had to fill it up, anyway.
Well, Walter just called and said he couldn't come home, so I guess I won't get to go out after all. I don't know why he does things like that. I think I'll just have Johnnie come over here, anyway, and Pop can watch us because he enjoys music and dancing as much as anyone else.
Now, write soon, Mama. And you too Frankie and Jimmie. I won't ask Roberta to write because I still owe her a letter. But I am going to write real soon. Would have before this, but it seems like I just can't get anything done. Love,
Marge
P.S. Don't bother to write Pop. He doesn't seem to be able to read any more.
When I finished that letter I said, "Mom, is that girl completely crazy?"
"What's the matter with Marge?" asked Mom, beginning to bristle. "It looks to me like she's doing all right. She's taking care of Pop. She's always been good to us. She's the only member I can think of, offhand, that ever remembered my birthday."
"I remembered it, Mom," said Roberta, "a good many times. It always worked out, though, that we had some old note or something to pay off at the same time."
"But look, Mom," I said. "You know Walter isn't going to put up with this. The last time I saw him he was getting pretty fed up, and Pop wasn't around then."
"I guess Marge can handle him," said Mom.
Frankie, when she came home, saw things my way. "Jimmie's right, Mom. You'd better write her to take Pop back."
"They don't want him back."
"They'll have to take him, anyway. They've got to keep him a little while until we can make some arrangements."
"What arrangements? I don't know of any."
"Well-until Jimmie sells a story."
"And when will that be? He's not written a line all week."
"Now Christ Almighty!" I said. "Why throw that up to me? You know why I haven't written. What do you want me to do? Sit out in the gutter and type?"
"Keep your voice down," said Roberta sharply. "Well, what do you want me to do?" I repeated. "Nothing," said Mom. "Absolutely nothing. But don't get in the way of people who are doing something."
She got up and plodded out, and Frankie told me not to pay any attention to her-she was just upset. I was pretty hurt. Marge, to the best of my knowledge, never contributed a dime of cash money to the family in her life. But, through her faculty for remembering Mother's Day and her habit of waking you up in the middle of the night to ask if you're sleeping well, she seems to be, in Mom's eyes, the trunk of the tree.
Mind, I'm not jealous of Marge, although she always got the best of everything when it was available. Long after Pop had more money than he knew what to do with, I carried a paper route, and worked for Western Union, and caddied, because Pop thought that a job- any kind of a lousy goddamned
Now, Mama, when you write him don't let on that I said anything, and don't say anything that will hurt his feelings. He's very sensitive. Just tell him to be sure and use the toilet. There's one right next to the telephone, downstairs, and there's another one upstairs right off the south bedroom. I believe that if you can make Pop understand that he's supposed to use them he will do so. I'd talk to him, but it's been so long since I was around him much that I hardly know how to any more.
I'm sending you a box of stuff. Nothing much, but I hope you can use it. They got in some imported Canadian hams at the No. 1 store the other day, and you ought to eat more meat, Mama, so I got one. Also put in some cigarettes and candy and other stuff because the box was too big and I had to fill it up, anyway.
Well, Walter just called and said he couldn't come home, so I guess I won't get to go out after all. I don't know why he does things like that. I think I'll just have Johnnie come over here, anyway, and Pop can watch us because he enjoys music and dancing as much as anyone else.
Now, write soon, Mama. And you too Frankie and Jimmie. I won't ask Roberta to write because I still owe her a letter. But I am going to write real soon. Would have before this, but it seems like I just can't get anything done. Love,
Marge
P.S. Don't bother to write Pop. He doesn't seem to be able to read any more.
When I finished that letter I said, "Mom, is that girl completely crazy?"
"What's the matter with Marge?" asked Mom, beginning to bristle. "It looks to me like she's doing all right. She's taking care of Pop. She's always been good to us. She's the only member I can think of, offhand, that ever remembered my birthday."
"I remembered it, Mom," said Roberta, "a good many times. It always worked out, though, that we had some old note or something to pay off at the same time."
"But look, Mom," I said. "You know Walter isn't going to put up with this. The last time I saw him he was getting pretty fed up, and Pop wasn't around then."
"I guess Marge can handle him," said Mom.
Frankie, when she came home, saw things my way. "Jimmie's right, Mom. You'd better write her to take Pop back."
"They don't want him back."
"They'll have to take him, anyway. They've got to keep him a little while until we can make some arrangements."
"What arrangements? I don't know of any."
"Well-until Jimmie sells a story."
"And when will that be? He's not written a line all week."
"Now Christ Almighty!" I said. "Why throw that up to me? You know why I haven't written. What do you want me to do? Sit out in the gutter and type?"
"Keep your voice down," said Roberta sharply. "Well, what do you want me to do?" I repeated. "Nothing," said Mom. "Absolutely nothing. But don't get in the way of people who are doing something."
She got up and plodded out, and Frankie told me not to pay any attention to her-she was just upset. I was pretty hurt. Marge, to the best of my knowledge, never contributed a dime of cash money to the family in her life. But, through her faculty for remembering Mother's Day and her habit of waking you up in the middle of the night to ask if you're sleeping well, she seems to be, in Mom's eyes, the trunk of the tree.
Mind, I'm not jealous of Marge, although she always got the best of everything when it was available. Long after Pop had more money than he knew what to do with, I carried a paper route, and worked for Western Union, and caddied, because Pop thought that a job- any kind of a lousy goddamned
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