[Excerpt from a letter to Paul Springer, July 20, 1947]
Dear Paul & Nell,
I’ve always had a sneaking suspicion that if I waited long enough there would be something to write you. Yesternoon little Oofus came forth – male gender, large and mighty of limb and voice. When my little bean blossom felt it coming on she rushed for the glass pitcher – a 20-cent display piece which we use for everything but a urinal – into which we have been depositing from day to day little wads of paper with names on them, names that we thought might not be too repellent. So we held a drawing, at 2 a.m., and the name that came out was (you must believe it) Paul. We are still trying to think of a middle name that will appease the family. Phyllis, having of course read up on the subject, was cool and cooperative to a degree that nonplussed the local midwife; we walked for miles and miles that night and polished off an enormous cake (our anniversary), after which she said eh bien, mon vieux, je vais m’enfanter! And she did. Moral – if you are poor and don’t have a car blessed events are no more trouble than putting up peaches.