I’m writing this slow ’cause I know you can’t read fast. We don’t live where we did when you first left. Your father read in the paper that most accidents happen within 20 miles of home, so we moved. I won’t be able to send you the address ’cause the last family 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, pulled the chain, and I haven’t seen ’em since. 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 the heavy buttons, so we cut ’em off and put them in the pockets.
Your father has a new job with several hundred people under him. He cuts the lawn at the cemetery.
About your sister - she had a baby this morning. I haven’t found out whether it’s a girl or a boy, so I don’t know if you are an Aunt or and Uncle.
We got a bill from the funeral home, said if we didn’t make the last payment on Grandma’s funeral, up she comes. Your Uncle Joe fell in the whisky vat yesterday - some men tried to pull him out but he fought ’em all off and finally drowned. We cremated him right after and he’s still burning good this morning.
The neighbors next door have started to keep pigs. We just got wind of it this morning.
Your father took me to the doctor’s the other day. The doctor put a small tube in my mouth and told me not to open it for ten minutes. Your father tried to buy it from him.
It only rained twice last week. Once for three days, then for four days. It was so windy that one of our chickens laid the same egg four times.
Three of your friends went off the bridge in a pick-up truck, one was driving, two in the back. The driver rolled the window down and swam out. The two in the back couldn’t get the tail-gate open so they drowned too. Not much news this time, nothing much happens round here, will try to write more next time.
Love, Your Mama
P.S. Was going to send you money, but the envelope was already sealed.
Life Is Beautiful
Sunday Service Social Distancing
Two Of Each
The Future of Social Media
Greta on Chopsticks
Don't Touch Your Face