Dear Child,
I'm writing slowly because I know you can't read fast.
We don't live where we did when you left. Your dad read that most accidents happen within 20 miles of home, so we moved. I can't send the address because the last family took the house numbers with them so they wouldn't have to change theirs.
This place is nice. It even has a washing machine, though I'm not sure it works well. Last week, I put a load in, pulled the chain, and haven't seen the clothes since.
The weather isn't too bad. It only rained twice last week: first for three days, then for four. About the coat you wanted: Uncle Steve said mailing it with buttons would be too heavy, so we cut them off and put them in the pockets.
We got another bill from the funeral home. They said if we don't make the final payment on Grandma's grave, "up she comes."
John locked his keys in the car yesterday. We were worried because it took him two hours to get me and Shelby out.
Your sister had a baby this morning. I don't know if it's a boy or girl yet, so I don't know if you're an aunt or an uncle. If it's a girl, she'll name it after me—she's going to call it "Mom."
Uncle Pete fell into a whiskey vat last week. Someone tried to pull him out, but he fought them off and drowned. We had him cremated; he burned for three days.
Three of your friends went off a bridge in a pickup truck. Ralph was driving. He rolled down the window and swam to safety. Your two friends were in the back; they drowned because they couldn't get the tailgate down.
That's about all the news for now. Nothing much has happened.
P.S. I was going to send you some money, but the envelope was already sealed.