"Home Fires of the Great War"

Good Morning,
I am getting a funny feeling that no one has so much as looked at this for several weeks. Maybe that is why there are no comments. I guess everyone is just too busy, or maybe they don't like to read any more. Oh well, I can talk to myself. I've done that before. Of course it isn't nearly as much fun as talking when someone is listening, but it is better than nothing. And who knows, if I don't get out of the habit of posting something every Friday, maybe someday it will get read again. Perhaps not. It does feel really funny rambling like this. I'm sure glad this isn't a public blog.:)
I really have no idea of what to post. I did write this week, but it was all my book. Maybe I'll post a little bit from the very last "letter" of my book. Yes, I did say the very last one! I have written 54 "letters" for this book on WW1. Seems hard to believe, doesn't it? Now I have to get all my books about the war out and write the "from the front letters" which will go in the other "letters." And then I can write the "background." This is getting exciting! I really don't have much left to write! It doesn't seem possible that I may actually get this book published next year! Me, write a book and publish it? You've got to be joking. I don't like writing, remember? Or at least I didn't used to. Now I love it!
What should I write next?
But I have other things to do besides spending a long time talking to myself. I'll just go pull a bit from that last "letter." The "letter" hasn't been to my first proofer yet, but hopefully it won't be too bad. No one is going to read it anyway, so why should it matter?

December 1919 . . .

. . .It wasn’t snowing as hard as it had been earlier, but the wind off the sea was frigid. It seemed to go right through me. With our backs to the wind, we trudged off, up the hill toward the path among the pine trees. Once we reached the shelter of the trees, the biting wind wasn’t so keenly felt. Papa led, and I followed in his tracks as best I could wondering how Grace had ever managed to come so far. Some drifts were higher than my knee! I kept a tight hold of Papa’s coat. At last we paused to rest, and Papa asked if I was all right. I nodded. My lungs were burning as I gasped in the cold air. The wind didn’t seem as strong as we again pressed forward. Before much longer we could see the small light of a candle in a window just ahead. Then, before us was the house. It appeared as though someone had tried to clear the snow somewhat off the porch. We stomped our feet, and Papa knocked. . . .