to Irish son
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 Irish 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
your 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, Mum
P.S. I was going
to send you some money but the envelope was already sealed.