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i cant understand people who dont like to work； but that isnt peters problem either。
he just doesnt have a goal； plus he thinks hes too stupid and inferior to ever achieve anything。 poor boy； hes never known how it feels to make someone else happy； and im afraid i cant teach him。 he isnt religious； scoffs at jesus christ and takes the lords name in vain； and though im not orthodox either； it hurts me every time to see him so lonely； so scornful； so wretched。
people who are religious should be glad； since not everyone is blessed with the ability to believe in a higher order。 you dont even have to live in fear of eternal punishment；
the concepts of purgatory； heaven and hell are difficult for many people to accept； yet religion itself； any religion； keeps a person on the right path。 not the fear of god； but upholding your own sense of honor and obeying your own conscience。 how noble and good everyone could be if； at the end of each day； they were to review their own behavior and weigh up the rights and wrongs。 they would automatically try to do better at the start of each new day and； after a while； would certainly acplish a great deal。 everyone is wele to this prescription； it costs nothing and is definitely useful。 those who dont know will have to find out by experience that 〃a quiet conscience gives you strength！〃
yours； anne
m。 frank
saturday； july 8； 1944
dearest kitty；
mr。 broks was in beverwijk and managed to get hold of strawberries at the produce auction。 they arrived here dusty and full of sand； but in large quantities。 no less than twenty…four crates for the office and us。 that very same evening we canned the first six jars and made eight jars of jam。 the next morning miep started making jam for the office。
at twelve…thirty the outside door was locked； crates were lugged into the kitchen； with peter； father and mr。 van daan stumbling up the stairs。 anne got hot water from the water heater； margot〃〃；went for a bucket； all hands on deck！ with a funny feeling in my stomach； i entered the overcrowded office kitchen。 miep； bep； mr。 kleiman； jan； father； peter： the annex contingent and the supply corps all mixed up together； and that in the middle of the day！ curtains and windows open； loud voices； banging doors …… i was trembling with excitement。 i kept thinking； 〃are we really in hiding？〃 this must be how it feels when you can finally go out into the world again。 the pan was full； so i dashed upstairs； where the rest of the family was hulling strawberries around the kitchen table。 at least thats what they were supposed to be doing； but more was going into their mouths than into the buckets。 they were bound to need another bucket soon。 peter went back downstairs； but then the doorbell rang twice。 leaving the bucket where it was； peter raced upstairs and shut the bookcase behind him。 we sat kicking our heels impatiently； the strawberries were waiting to be rinsed； but we stuck to the house rule： 〃no running water when strangers are downstairs …… they might hear the drains。”
jan came up at one to tell us it had been the mail… man。 peter hurried downstairs again。 ding…dong。 。 。 the doorbell； about…face。 i listened to hear if anyone was ing； standing first at the bookcase； then at the top of the stairs。 finally peter and i leaned over the banister； straining our ears like a couple of burglars to hear the sounds from downstairs。 no unfamthar voices。 peter tip… toed halfway down the stairs and called out； 〃bep！”
once more： 〃bep！〃 his voice was drowned out by the racket in the kitchen。 so he ran down to the kitchen while i nervously kept watch from above。 〃go upstairs at once； peter； the accountants here； youve got to leave！〃 it was mr。 kuglers voice。 sighing； peter came upstairs and closed the bookcase。
mr。 kugler finally came up at one…thirty。 〃my gosh； the whole worlds turned to strawberries。 i had strawber… ries for breakfast； jans having diem for lunch； kleimans eating them as a snack； mieps bothng them； beps hulling them； and i can smell them everywhere i go。 i e upstairs to get away from all that red and what do i see？ people washing strawberries！”
the rest of the strawberries were canned。 that evening： two jars came unsealed。
father quickly turned them into jam。 the next morning： two more lids popped up； and that afternoon： four lids。 mr。 van daan hadnt gotten the jars hot enough when he was sterthzing them； so father ended up making jam every evening。 we ate hot cereal with strawberries； buttermilk with strawberries； bread with strawberries； strawberries for dessert； straw… berries with sugar； strawberries with sand。 for two days there was nothing but strawberries； strawberries； strawberries； and then our supply was either exhausted or in jars； safely under lock and key。
〃hey； anne；〃 margot called out one day； 〃mrs。 van hoeven has let us have some peas； twenty pounds！”
〃thats nice of her；〃 i replied。 and it certainly was； but its so much work。 。 。 ugh！
〃on saturday； youve aji got to shell peas；〃 mother announced at the table。
and sure enough； this morning after breakfast our biggest enamel pan appeared on the table； filled to the brim with peas。 if you think shelling peas is boring work； you ought to try removing the inner linings。 i dont think many people realize that once youve pulled out the linings； the pods are soft； delicious and rich in vitamins。 but an even greater advantage is that you get nearly three times as much as when you eat just the peas。
stripping pods is a precise and meticulous job that might be suited to pedantic dentists or finicky spice experts； but its a horror for an impatient teenager like me。 we started work at nine…thirty； i sat down at ten…thirty； got up again at eleven； sat down again at eleven…thirty。 my ears were humming with the following refrain： snap the end； strip the pod； pull the string； pod in the pan； snap the end； strip the pod； pull the string； pod in the pan； etc。； etc。 my eyes were swimming： green； green； worm； string； rotten pod； green； green。 to fight the boredom and have something to do； i chattered all morn… ing； saying whatever came into my head and making everyone laugh。 the monotony was killing me。 every str