I am writing so slowly because I know you can’t read fast. We don’t live where we did when you left. Your father read in the newspaper that most accidents happen within twenty miles of our home, so we moved. We won’t able to send you the address because the last Arkansas family that lived here took the numbers for their house with them, so they wouldn’t have to change their address.
This place has a washing machine. The first day, I put four shirts, in it, pulled the chain, and haven’t seen ’em since. It only rained twice this week, three days the first time and four days the second time.
The coat I was supposed to send you, 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 and it said if we didn’t make the final payment on Grandma’s funeral bill, up she comes.
About your sister, she had a baby this morning. I haven’t known if it’s a boy or a girl, so I also don’t know if you are an aunt or an uncle.
Not much more news this time. Nothing much happened. If you don’t get this letter, my son, please let me know and I will send another one.
P.S. I was going to send you some money, but the envelope was already sealed.