MONDAY, DECEMBER 6, 1943Dearest Kitty,The closer it got to St. Nichos Day, the more we all thought back to st years festively decorated basket.More than anyone, I thought it would be terrible to skip a celebration this year. After long deliberation, I finally came up with an idea, something funny. I sulted rim, anda week ago we set to work writing a verse for each person.Sunday evening at a quarter to eight we trooped upstairs carrying the big undry basket, which had been decorated with cutouts and bows made of pink and blue carbon paper. On top was a rge piece of brown ing paper with a ached.Everyone was rather amazed at the sheer size of the gift. I removed the note and read it aloud:"Once again St. Nichos Day Has even e to our hideaway;It wont be quite as Jun, I fear, As the happy day we had st year.Then we were hopeful, no reason to doubt That optimism would win the bout, And by the time this year came round, Wed all be free, and s* and sound.Still, lets not Jet its St. Nichos Day, Though weve nothio give away.Well have to find something else to do:So everyone please look in their shoe!”As each person took their own shoe out of the basket, there was a roar of ughter.Inside each shoe was a little ed package addressed to its owner.Yours, AnneDearest Kitty,A bad case of flu has prevented me from writing to you until today. Being sick here is dreadful. With every cough, I had to duder the b -- owice, three times -- and try to keep from coughing anymore.Most of the time the tickle refused to go away, so I had to drink milk with honey, sugar or cough drops. I get dizzy just thinking about all the cures Ive been subjected to: sweating out the fever, steam treatment, wet presses, dry presses, hot drinks, swabbing my throat, lying still, heating pad, hot-water bottles, lemonade and, every two hours, the thermometer. Will these remedies really make you better? The worst part was when Mr. Dussel decided to py doctor and y his pomaded head on my bare chest to listen to the sounds. Not only did his hair tickle, but I was embarrassed, even though he went to school thirty years ago and does have some kind of medical degree. Why should he y his head on my heart? After all, hes not myboyfriend! For that matter, he wouldnt be able to tell a healthy sound from an uhy one.Hed have to have his ears ed first, since hes being armingly hard of hearing. But enough about my illness. Im fit as a fiddle again. Ive grown almost half an ind gaiwo pounds. Im pale, but itg to get bay books.Ausnahmsweise* (the only word that will do here [* By way of exception]), were all getting oogether. No squabbles, though that probably wont st long. There hasnt been such pead quiet in this house for at least six months.Bep is still in isotion, but any day now her sister will no longer be tagious.For Christmas, were gettira cooking oil, dy and mosses. For Hanukkah, Mr.Dussel gave Mrs. van Daan and Mother a beautiful cake, which hed asked Miep to bake. On top of all the work she has to do! Margot and I received a brooch made out of a penny, all bright and shiny. I t really describe it, but its lovely.I also have a Christmas present for Miep and Bep. For a whole month Ive saved up the sugar I put on my hot cereal, and Mr. Kleiman has used it to have fondant made.The weather is drizzly and overcast, the stove stinks, and the food lies heavily on our stomachs, produg a variety of rumbles.The war is at an impasse, spirits are low.Yours, AnneFRIDAY, DECEMBER 24, 1943Dear Kitty,As Ive written you many times before, moods have a tendency to affect us quite a bit here, and in my case its beeing worse tely. "Himmelhoch jaud, zu Tode betrubt"* [* A famous line from Goethe: "On top of the world, or in the depths of despair."] certainly applies to me. Im "on top of the world" when I think of how fortunate we are and pare myself to other Jewish children, and "in the depths of despair" when, for example, Mrs. Kleiman es by and talks about Jopies hockey club, oe trips, school pys and afternoon teas with friends.I dont think Im jealous of Jopie, but I long to have a really good time for ondto ugh so hard it hurts.Were stu this house like lepers, especially during winter and the Christmas and New Years holidays. Actually, I shouldnt even be writing this, si makes me seem so ungrateful, but I t keep everything to myself, so Ill repeat what I said at the beginning: "Paper is more patient than people.”Whenever someone es in from outside, with the wind in their clothes and the cold on their cheeks, I feel like burying my head uhe bo keep from thinking, "When will we be allowed to breathe fresh air again?" I t do that -- on the trary, I have to hold my head up high and put a bold fa things, but the thoughts keep ing anyway. Not just once, but over and over.Believe me, if youve been shut up for a year and a half, it get to be too much for you sometimes. But feelings t be ignored, no matter how unjust rateful they seem. I long to ride a bike, dance, whistle, look at the world, feel young and know that Im free, a I t let it show. just imagine what would happen if all eight of us were to feel sorry for ourselves or walk around with the distent clearly visible on our faces. Where would that get us? I sometimes wonder if anyone will ever uand what I mean, if anyone will ever overlook my ingratitude and not worry about whether or not Im Jewish and merely see me as a teenager badly in need of some good pin fun. I dont know, and I wouldnt be able to talk about it with anyone, since Im sure Id start to cry. g bring relief, as long as you dont cry alone. Despite all my theories and efforts, I miss -- every day and every hour of the day -- having a mother who uands me. Thats why with everything I do and write, I imagihe kind of mom Id like to be to my children ter on. The kind of mom who doesnt take everything people say too seriously, but who does take me seriously. I find it difficult to describe what I mean, but the word mom" says it all.Do you know what Ive e up with? In order to give me the feeling of calling my mother something that sounds like "Mom," I often call her" Momsy." Sometimes I shorten it to "Moms"; an imperfect "Mom." I wish I could honor her by removing the "s." Its a good thing she doesnt realize this, si would only make her unhappy.Well, thats enough of that. My writing has raised me somewhat from "the depths of despair.”Yours, As the day after Christmas, and I t help thinking about Pim and the story he told me this time st year. I didnt uand the meaning of his words then as well as I do now. If only hed bring it up again, I might be able to show him I uood whathe meant!I think Pim told me because he, who knows the "intimate secrets" of so many others, o express his own feelings for once; Pim alks about himself, and I dont think Margot has any inkling of what hes been through. Poor Pim, he t fool me into thinking hes fotten that girl. He never will. Its made him very aodating, since hes not blind to Mothers faults. I hope Im going to be a little like him, without having to gh what he has!Anne MONDAY, DECEMBER 27, 1943Friday evening, for the first time in my life, I received a Christmas present. Mr.Kleiman, Mr. Kugler and the girls had prepared a wonderful surprise for us. Miep made a delicious Christmas cake with "Peace 1944" written on top, and Bep provided a batch of cookies that to prewar standards.There was a jar of yogurt for Peter, Margot and me, and a bottle of beer for each of the adults. And once agaihing was ed so nicely, with pretty pictures glued to the packages. For the rest, the holidays passed by quickly for us.Anne WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 29, 1943I was very sad again st night. Grandma and Hanneli came to me once mrandma, oh, my sweet Grandma. How little we uood what she suffered, how kind she always was and what an i she took ihing that ed us.And to think that all that time she was carefully guardierrible secret. * [*Annes grandmother was terminally ill.] Grandma was always so loyal and good. She would never have let any of us down.Whatever happened, no matter how much I misbehaved, Grandma always stuck up for me. Grandma, did you love me, or did you not uaher? I dont know.How lonely Grandma must have been, in spite of us. You be lonely even when youre loved by many people, since youre still not bd"dI" any 0 y s one an only.And Hanneli? Is she still alive? Whats she doing? Dear God, watch over her and bring her back to us. Hanneli, youre a reminder of what my fate might have been. I keep seeing myself in your pce. So why am I often miserable about what goes on here?Shouldnt I be happy, tented and gd, except when Im thinking of Hanneli and those suffering along with her? Im selfish and cowardly. Why do I always think and dream the most awful things and want to scream in terror? Because, in spite of everything, I still dont have enough faith in God. Hes given me so much, which I dont deserve, a each day I make so many mistakes!Thinking about the suffering of those you hold dear reduce you to tears; in fact, you could spend the whole day g. The most you do is pray fod to perform a miracle and save at least some of them. And I hope Im doing enough of that!AHURSDAY, DECEMBER 30, 1943Dearest Kitty,Sihe st raging quarrels, things have settled down here, not only between ourselves, Dussel and "upstairs," but also between Mr. and Mrs. van D. heless, a few dark thunderclouds are heading this way, and all because of . . . food. Mrs. van D. came up with the ridiculous idea fewer potatoes in the m and saving them for ter in the day. Mother and Dussel and the rest of us didnt agree with her, so now were dividing up the potatoes as well. It seems the fats and oils arent being doled out fairly, and Moing to have to put a stop to it. Ill let you know if there are any iing developments. For the st few months now weve been splitting up the meat (theirs with fat, ours without), the soup (they eat it, we dont), the potatoes (theirs peeled, ours not), the extras and now the fried potatoes too.If only we could split up pletely!Yours, AnneP.S. Bep had a picture postcard of the entire Royal Family copied for me. Juliana looks very young, and so does the Queen. The three little girls are adorable. It was incredibly nice of Bep, dont you think?