Firmenbriefkopf 27. 12. 1936 | December 27, 1936 Dear Martin, First, let me thank you for sending [birthday] congratulations my way; we're just having coffees in an intimate setting this year. I thought Rosel would be coming, but she told me by phone that her people are departing tomorrow, and so she's busy. On Friday, we visited the Dahlerbruchs to celebrate the engagement, a happy betrothal; now all the older girls have a chance, so says even Tille Gutmann. Yes, dear Martin, no one wants to bring your things with, that you've seen from the letter out of Cologne, this one from the father of Alfred Hermann Marx. We'll have to go pick everything back up, until we find someone, but when? The fact that Kahns boys aren't taking anything shows one again how false the people are, but I judged them correctly, and so this is also out from Milwaukee. So Kurt now has his affidavit from Udo, and we're all wishing him that he have everything in order quickly, now that the burden is taken care of. Yesterday Aunt Selma and Uncle Max ate lunch with us, we had a fine little goose. I feel that the Niersteiners would rather live in the city than us, they want to give up the business to Lohmüller and then move to Mainz, but everything is still a distant prospect. Ernst has landed well, now we're waiting for news from L.; he had storms and fog. Write again to Karl Kahn about your things, he's having a marvelous time, and is also working. Arthur Gottschalk is with Herbert in Holland, perhaps he'll go later to an uncle who's settled in Luxembourg. Can you believe it: we're going out today--father has to believe. Hede wants to visit Blanka first, Lucie Guggenheimer of Wiesbaden have gone to San Remo this week, they have a pension, her husband and sister Else fun it, and her brother-in-law and Lucie have a hair salon and beauty salon, everyone seizes on something different! Otherwise, nothing has happened here, everything is quiet, now New Year's. What are you up to these days? For today, warm greetings to all the acquaintances and family, from Johanna Kossmann |