My husband spent 2 1/2 years as a missionary in Uruguay, South America. He went in the Fall of 1959 and came home Spring 1962. We weren't married then, you know.
He kept a journal during that time, written, of course, in his own hand. I have been transcribing the journal.
Just this week I have come upon the part where he has written--and sent this time--a "Dear Jane" to his girl friend. That would be me. I didn't like it when it happened in 1961, and I don't like it now as I type it in 2013. Makes me feel bad again. Makes me mad at him.
And get this. He says he hopes he doesn't lose me. Well, I say it was a dumb thing to do if he didn't want to lose me. Turns out, though, he didn't lose me, but, hey.
More revealed later.
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