Hope

We take pictures of everything. Sometimes I wonder if we miss the joy of a moment because we're grabbing our phones to take a picture and save a memory.

Don't misunderstand. I love my pictures. I collect them, organize them, run them as screen savers and remember with a giggle or a tear special moments.

But, even a decade ago this technology didn't exist. Prior to that time, we planned for a picture, had actual film developed, hoped for the best, and found out maybe a week later if we had taken a good shot. 

This picture was taken of my mother in 1943. It was planned. Maybe it was taken by a photographer. 

Googling took me to the pages of a 1943 Montgomery Wards Catalog showing the cost of average cameras at that time between $40 and $100 with flash attachment and bulbs. That was a huge amount of money after the Great Depression. I doubt Mom's family, small dairy farmers, could have afforded a luxury item like a camera. 

But this event, Mom sitting by her hope chest, with her bridal collection neatly folded within, warranted a picture. She was full of hope for the future and full of love for my dad. That hope never left either of them throughout their  66-year marriage.

They took a chance on a WWII romance and had the dedication to make it last. 

November 11, 1941

Dear Ed,

            I don’t know why––but it seems so much easier to tell you in writing how much you mean to me.  You know there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.  In these uncertain times everyone needs someone to live for, to dream about––without this we’re lost.

            Ed, I love you with all my heart.  I’d consider it an honor if you’d allow me to wait for you until the war is over.

           Why couldn’t I have realized, and told you about my feelings in person, before you left for the Army?  I am so very sure now.

Lovingly,

Ibby