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A MOTHER'S LETTER TO HER SON​

A MOTHER'S LETTER TO HER SON

Dear Jacob

I write to let you know that I am still alive. I am writing as slowly as I can, as I know you don’t read fast.

You won’t know the house when you come home—we moved from the bush to the city.
We had trouble moving, especially the bed—the man wouldn’t let us take it in the taxi, and we were afraid that we might wake your father.

Your father has a nice new job and is very responsible. He has about 500 people under him—he cuts the grass at the cemetery.
Our neighbors, the Browns, started keeping chickens. We got wind of it yesterday.

I got my appendix out and a dishwasher put in. There is a washing machine in the new house here, but it don’t work too good. Last week, I put 14 shirts in it and pulled that chain. They whirled around real good, but then disappeared.

Your uncle Levy drowned last week in a whiskey vat at the distillery. Four of his workmates dived in to save him, but he fought them off bravely. We cremated the body the next day and just got the fire out this morning.

I went to the doctor with your father last week. The doctor put a small glass tube with a red line in it in my mouth and told me not to open it for 10 minutes.
Your father wanted to buy it from him.

It rained only twice last week—once for 3 days and once for 4 days. Monday was so windy that our chicken laid the same egg four times.

Your loving mother,
Anna