Dear Son,

I'm writing this letter slow because I know you can't read

fast. We don't live where we did when you left home. Your

dad read in the newspaper that most accidents happen within

20 miles from your home, so we moved. I won't be able to

send you the address because the last family that

lived here took the house numbers when they moved so that

they wouldn't have to change their address.

This place is really nice. It even has a washing machine.

I'm not sure it works so well though: last week I put a

load in and pulled the chain and haven't seen them since.

The weather isn't bad here. It only rained twice last week;

the first time for three days and the second time for four

days. About that coat you wanted me to send you, your

Uncle Stanley said it would be too heavy to send in the

mail with the buttons on, so we cut them off and put them

in the pockets.

John locked his keys in the car yesterday. We were really

worried because it took him two hours to get me and your

father out. Your sister had a baby this morning; but I

haven't found out what it is yet so I don't know if you're

an aunt or an uncle. The baby looks just like your brother.

Uncle Ted fell in a whiskey vat last week. Some men tried

to pull him out, but he fought them off playfully and

drowned. We had him cremated and he burned for three days.

Three of your friends went off a bridge in a pick-up truck.

Ralph was driving. He rolled down the window and swam to

safety. Your other two friends were in back. They drowned

because they couldn't get the tailgate down.

There isn't much more news at this time. Nothing much has

happened.

Love, Mom