I just wanted to write you a few lines to say I’m still alive. I write slowly because I know you can’t read fast. You would not know our house when you moved because we have moved. Dad has a new, very good job. There are now 5,000 people under him. He mows the grass in the cemetery.
This is truly a fabulous place. There is even a washing machine. I don’t know, she works like that, because I put the sheets to wash last week and I haven’t seen them since. As for the coat you wanted us to send you, Uncle Stanley said that if we sent it in the mail, it would be too heavy with the buttons, so we cut them out and put them in our pockets.
Your sister had a baby this morning. I don’t know yet if it’s a boy or a girl, so I can’t tell if you’re an uncle or an aunt.
A few days ago, the oven exploded in the kitchen. My father and I were thrown out of the door by a blow. It was the first time in the last ten years that we had gone somewhere together.
It rained only twice last week. First for three days, then for four. The wind was so strong on Monday that our chicken laid the same egg four times.
Yesterday, John accidentally locked his car keys in the car. We were really worried because it took me two hours to get me and my father out in the field.
Uncle Teds fell into a whiskey barrel last week. Some men tried to pull him out, but he resisted and drowned. We cremated him and he burned for three days.
As you can see, there is not much news, nothing special has happened.