Mei Liewer Bu,

Ich bin langsam am schreiwe, vun weege ich wees dass du net schtarick lese kannscht.

Mir lewe nimmi wo mir gelebt henn wann du uns verlose hoscht,

Dei Daadi hot gelese in der Zeiting dass die menschde Accidents gschehne deede mitin zwansich Meil vun daheem so sinn mir gezoge.

Nau, ich kann dir die nei Address noch net schicke.

Die Leit wass devor do gewuhnt henn, henn duie Hausnummere mitgenumme so dass sie net ihre Address annere breiche.

Daer Blatz hut en scheeni Weschmaschien.

Der erscht mol hawwich vier Hemmer nei geduh un hab der Hendel gegoze. Ich hab die Hemmer die Zeit nimmi gsehne.

Es hot gereigert zwee mol die Woch, drei Daage es erscht mol un vier Daage es zwett mol.

Der Ruck dass du hawwe hoscht wolle dass ich dir schicke deed, hot die Aent Sue gsaagt wer zu schwer ver schicke in die Meel.

So hawwich die schwerschte Gnepp abschnidde un hab sie in en Sach gschtecht.

Mir henn yuscht widder en Rechning grickt vum Ausleeger.

Er hot gsaagt wann mir sei letscht Bezaaling net mache deede uff der Gremmem ihre Leicht, deed sie zummlich gschwindt ruff-kumme.

Dei Pap hot en nei-i Arewet grickt.

Er hott fimfhunnert Leit unnich sich vun weege er iss es Graas em schneide uff em Karichhof!

Un dei Schweschder sie hot der Mariye en Bobbli ghatte.

Nau, ich hab noch net ausgfunne eb es en Bu oder en Meedel iss. So wees ich net eb du en

Aent odder en Onkel bischt. Ich loss dich schpeeder wisse.

Drei vun deine Freind sinn vun der Brick gfaare in en “pick up truck.”

Eens vunne waar am faare un zwee waare hinnedrin, Er wass am faare waar, iss allrecht rauskumme.

Er hott’s Fenschder nunner gerollt un iss zum Land rausgschwumme. Awwer die annre zwee sinn versauft.

Sie henn’s “tailgate” net uffmache kenne.

Der Onkel John iss in’s Whiskiefass gschtatzt paar Woche zurick, un vier Kals henn browiert ver ihn raus zu ziege,

Awwer er hott sie all abgfochde un iss versauft, Mir henn ihn gkriemeet un er hott gebrennt ver drei Daage.

‘Sis net viel meh neies an die Zeit. ‘Sis net viel am aageh. Schreib als widder.

Lieb, Dei Memm

Un noch ebbes, Ich hab dir Geld schicke wolle, awwer ich hab der Envelop schunnt zu gebappt ghatte.

***

My dear son,

I am writing slowly because I know that you cannot read fast.

We no longer live where we lived when you left. Your dad read in the newspaper that most accidents happen within 20 miles of home. So we moved.

I can’t give you our new address because the people who lived here before we moved in took the house numbers with them so they would not have to change their address.

This place has a nice wash machine. The first time I used it, I put four shirts in it, pulled the lever, and haven’t seen the shirts since.

It rained two times this week, three days the first time and four days the second time.

About the coat that you wanted me to send to you - your Aunt Sue said it would be too heavy to send in the mail.

So I cut off the heaviest buttons and put them into one of the pockets.

We just received the bill from the funeral director. He said if we did not make the final payment on Grammom’s funeral she would quite quickly rise up from the grave.

Your dad has a new job. He has 500 people under him since he is in charge of cutting the grass in the church cemetery.

And your sister, she had a baby this morning, but I have not yet learned whether it is a boy or a girl.

So I don’t know whether you are an uncle or an aunt. I’ll let you know later.

Three of your friends drove off a bridge in their pickup truck. One of them was the driver and two were in the back of the truck.

The one that was driving came out of it all right. He rolled down the window and swam to land.

But the other two drowned. They couldn’t open the tailgate.

Your Uncle John slipped and fell into the whiskey barrel a few weeks ago, and four fellows tried to pull him out.

But he fought so hard against their rescue efforts that he drowned. We had him cremated and he burned for three days.

There’s not much more news at this time. There is not much going on. Write again.

Love, Mom

P.S. One other thing: I wanted to send you money but I had already sealed the envelope.

Mach’s gut,

Mary Bittner Henry