Jumping ahead a few months to near the end of Marcy’s time at Antioch. “this is my senior project, and what it will be like a month from now I have no idea.....but, god, only a month to do it, eek, help.”
In which Marcy asks for money from her parents, for a long and semi-amusing list of reasons. “Help, Help! This-here is the classic example of College Student Writing Home For Money, full of flimsy excuses and unavoidable reasons”
Marcy’s last letter from Antioch, and her last letter before a long gap. “Lickety-split, trippety-plit, off to do last paper of college career, field comprehensives project on Creativity, ho ho.”
A postcard mentioning the upcoming move to Mendocino. Over a year has passed since the last letter I have—during which time Marcy moved to California, met Peter, moved in with him, and taught for a bit at the Six-Day School in Sonoma.
First mention in these letters of Peter and Marcy’s wedding; also, some discussion of the school they were planning. Also: “I have a sacred & holy mission: to ask you to ask Uncle Hyman for a recipe for good sour Jewish rye—no cookbooks have any real recipes that we’ve found—they’re all for Swedish rye or rye-whole wheat, or something, but about 6 of us would love to make good rybread, no matter how much work.”
Marcy is now 24 years old, though she doesn’t mention that in this letter. Assorted thoughts about sourdough rye bread, bureaucratic obstacles to getting the Caspar Community School up and running, abalone stew, and various possible future plans. Including this: “How would you like a grandchild? (This is not a matter of decision I ask you, but just a preference: rare, medium, or well-done?)—anyway, we’re thinkin’ about it.”
A long letter mostly about the school. “The kids are lovely and the school is tremendous and it really looks like I might be going to have a baby (April or May) and we are comfortable and happy and full of enough things to do and think about and work with to keep us that way.”
A brief note from about four months into Marcy’s pregnancy. “passed some store windows in a section of town I never get near usually, so wasn’t used to looking at a pregnant woman reflected back at me—I really look awfully pregnant, but experienced friends tell me I ain’t even started yet.”
A postcard, probably in reference to Peter having served a few days in jail because he couldn’t afford to pay some parking tickets.
Another postcard with brief updates.