|
 |
|
 |
||||||||||
 |
||||||||||||
| A LETTER FROM A WEST VIRGINIA MOTHER TO HER DAUGHTER Dear Louanne Ellie Mae: 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 home. . . . so we moved. We won't be able to send you the address because the last West Virginia family that lived here took the house numbers with them so they wouldn't have to change their address. This place is real nice. It even has a washing machine. I'm not sure it works so well though, last week I put a load of clothes in and pulled the chain and I haven't seen them since. The weather isn't bad here either, it only rained twice last year, the first time for 3 days and the second for 4 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 2 hours to get me and your father out. Your sister had a baby this morning, but we havn't found out what it is yet, so we don't know whether you're an Aunt or an Uncle. The baby looks 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 he drowned. We had him cremated and he burned for 3 days. Three of your friends went off a bridge in a pick-up truck. . . . Ralph was driving. He rolled the window down and swam to safety. Your other two friends were in the back and they drowned because they couldn't get the tailgate down. There isn't much news at this time. Nothing much has happened. Love, Mom P.S. I was going to send you some money, but the envelope was already sealed. |
||||||||||||
|
||||||||||||
|
|
|||||||||||