Dear Son,

I am writing this slow cause I know you can’t read fast.  We don’t live where we did when you left.  You're dad read in the paper where most accidents happen within twenty-five miles of home, so we moved.  I won’t be able to send you the address because the last family that lived here took the numbers with them for their next house so they wouldn’t have to change their address.

This place has a washing machine.  The first day I put four shirts in and pulled the chain I haven’t seen them since.  It only rained twice this week - three days the first time, four days the second time.

The coat you wanted me to send you, your Aunt Sue said it would be a little too heavy to send in the mail with them heavy buttons, so we cut them off and put them in the pockets.

We got a bill from the funeral home.  It said if we didn’t make the last payment on Grandma’s funeral, up she comes.

About your father - he has a lovely new job.  He has over 500 men under him.  He cuts grass at the cemetery.

About your sister - she had a baby this morning.  I haven’t found out whether it’s a boy or a girl, so I don’t know if you are an aunt or an uncle.

Three of your friends went off the bridge in a pickup.  One was driving, the other two were in the back.  The driver got out.  He rolled down the window and swam to safety.  The other two drowned, they couldn’t get the tailgate down.

Your uncle John fell in the whiskey vat.  Some men tried to pull him out but he fought them off, so he drowned.  We cremated him and he burned for three days.

Not much more news this time, nothing much happened.  Write more often.

Love,

Mom

P.S.  I was going to send you some money, but the envelope was already closed.