And it is. Going back to my “file” (a long portable table stretched out over the chair and ottoman in my bedroom, for lack of any other room in the house to leave an unwieldy, but organized, stack of papers) I discover that the carefully-stacked pile of letters, sorted by month of origin, has two surprises.
Second, inside, there was—wait! INSIDE THERE WAS…oh, no, I missed a letter! And, to boot, it was undated! Now, what? Oh, my precious organized world, obliterated by a late discovery!
On the other hand, I can take a more optimistic stance and celebrate the fact that I made one more discovery: a letter, out of sequence, that never-the-less deserves to take its place in Frank’s story line.
At least at this point, my halting “Yes, it was December 1945,” versus “No, it was December 1944” two-step can be set aside as we waltz toward the finish of this story of my father-in-law.