My dear Mother-in-law,

Christmas is almost upon us, the children have written Christmas on every door, but it is not a big holiday in Italy.
Today I was in Savona, there isn't much to buy, not much interesting.
I had figs, dates and raisins all very good.
Tomorrow I will send you a package hoping it will arrive before Christmas.
We still had good weather.
The other night it was about to snow, but this morning nothing, and instead a lovely sun.
My publisher, Martin Secker, is here, and came with me to Savona.
He's a good person, nice but not very lively.
Now it's evening, we are sitting in the kitchen, high up under the roof.
The evening star is white above. the hills in front, below the lights of the village, like tangerines, oranges, small and bright.
Frieda gulped down the whipped cream she got in Savona in one bite, and now she complains that she doesn't have any leftover for the coffee and dessert at the end of the meal.
He sits reading next to the stove.
The soup is cooking.
In a moment we will call down into the depths: come up Giovanni, dinner is ready. Then the old man will run up like a happy dog, sniffing in the air, smelling, sniffing.
It's nice for him, he never knows what delicacies await him.

Stay cheerful
D.H.L.