Clip from yesteryear.

When my cousin Norman , whom I absolutely adored as a child ( well still do) first went to Rome, NY with the AirForce, my grandmother painted me a really bleak picture.  Maybe being of the generation of WWII wives influenced her opinions.  But she really made it sound horrid, and I pictured him sitting in one of those Nisssen huts - I pictured it as drafty - eating bad porridge.  And the only glimmer of happiness would be "mail call"

So yes, she basically traumatized the crap out of me.  So every day- yes everyday, Either between school and practice, or during lunch, or during class I would write him a letter. Some days it was informative, but many days - having nothing specific to tell him - I'd write a story in like 8 parts (in my mind the serial format would give him something to look forward to the next day. I would send him advice on finding "Miss Right"  I would make up a code and write him a letter in that code - and ask him a question in code - so he had to figure out the code and answer. (good thing he was in intelligence)

He kept ALL my letters!! All of them.  Too many for a shoebox. A BIG box.

We were talking about my letters (and he did say he enjoyed getting them in the mail) the last time he was in NJ last month.  He then e-mailed me this clipping a few days ago.  All the letters & cards on the desk behind the book were mine.  The one on the desk under the bottom corner of the book even had a picture of me glued to it!