November 25, 1932
This is going to be an odd Christmas, no doubt about it. Instead of sugar plums and stockings stuffed with goodies and stacks of presents under the tree, a Time of Bounty, I am thinking of this as The Time of The Dwindling. Everything is diminishing -- our money, the light of day, and even the hours that Papa works. But in my heart I know we Swifts are tough -- hardened off like those seedlings. I just know that somehow, some way, this shall be Christmas.