Letters from Marcy #34: 27 February 1968

In this letter (the fifth-to-last of this series of letters), the doctor says that the baby (spoiler: me!) could come along at any minute; but in fact, it took me over a month longer to show up.

This letter was typed on another Transport A Child notecard, the same design as letter #32.


                                       Tuesday, 27 February
                                       [handwritten: 1968]
                                       only 14 more days max.
                                       till your grandchild's
                                       birthday, I hope.


We have just xxx had two days of summer, glorious sun and
warm and delightful, don't even mind too much that today was
drizzly again. We had such a beautiful day at school--the
kids were kind of glad to stay in after two days of pure
sunshine. In the morning, we all wrote a story about flying
saucers---surprising amount of agreement as to what they
look like and how they function. Then everybody actually
willingly worked on academics for a while, and then we did a
play. Generally plays generate into chaos, as the kids get
so involved in the costumes and motions that they forget to
say anything, but we solved that by telling a story and
practicing what we'd say before we actually did it. This one
was the story of an old beggar walking along the road and
finding a caged tiger who pleads to be let out, promising
good behavior. So the beggar lets him out, and the tiger
proceeds to pounce and be about to eat him. Various animals
come along the road to act as judge, all agreeing with tiger .
Then along comes a sage, wo professes not to understand
what has transpired, suggests they demonstrate original
positions, so tiger gets back into cage, sage slams door,
and everyone lives ever after....The play was a vast
success, repeat performance demanded by the actors, and even
the audience liked it.

Then monthly check-up with dr., who, altho he doesn't
approve of our wanting to have the baby at home, will not
stand in the way, and xxxx does at least want to be sure all
is well beforehand. We have still not firmly decided which
we will so, but going to the city for excellent hospital
care is out of the question; I refuse to spend two weeks
sitting around [handwritten: in S.F.] waiting for
contractions to start, but he says it'll probably be a short
labor, as I'm in good shape and dilated already, so we won't
have any 12 hours to get down there once the contractions
start. We re-calculated and came up with March 12, but he
says it really could be any minute. Which is how it feels,
too. We'll let you know as soon as he's out.

Walnuts dipped in honey are a most excellent thing. We got
60 pounds (5 gallons) of honey for $8 last week, good rich
dark honey, retailing it to our friends and eating it just
about plain, it's so delicious. Spent last weekend cleaning
and cutting up what is lovinging referrred to locally as
"one of them government goats"--most delicious [handwritten:
mammal] flesh I've ever eaten. i.e., a deer. Someone gave us
a whole bunch of venison (Peter had helped skin it) which we
cut up and froze, and ate quite a bit of all at once. It was
very strange--we have been having fish (crab, that most
heavenly crustacean, too, or mostly) as our source of animal
protein, and had eaten little or no meat for several months.
The venison made my teeth hurt, as I'm not used to that
carnivourous chewing, and made us both feel heavy and
ferocious and animalistic. And yet venison is better to eat
that the meat in stores, full of preservatives and
antibiotics and hormones and tranquilizers, and generally
water as well. And so exquisitely delicious. Chopped deer
liver, and braised and broiled and fried and stewed venison,
oh my, a benison.

Hope eye operation goes well. Let me know; also, I don't
understand how you will do without x the lenses now, and
just wear glasses--or did I miss something somewhere? As an
experiment, I've been doing without my lenses for nearly a
week, and my eyes sure are stronger and better. (even if my
typing isn't) Don't take the chance of driving without them,
though--but then, I can't fit behind the steering wheel and
still reach the pedals any more, so I just don't drive.

Falling asleep, so goodnight, take care, best to all,

               love from

                    [handwritten: Peter & Marcia & Little one
                                        (very little - I’ve
                                        only gained 13 lbs.)]


Postmark: Feb 28, 1968, Mendocino, CA. Handwritten: “Rec’d this 3/1/68.”

Facebook post for this letter.

Join the Conversation