From: Patience.midlife.com

To: Wildchild.nomoola.com

My Dearest Son,

I know that it has been a long time since I wrote you, but I have a valid excuse. After the last incident at the Barely Alive Estates, the neighbors held a meeting at the clubhouse and voted unanimously to evict us from the estates. The reason they gave was that we were causing too many disturbances and were bad for their image. I think the real issue was jealously on the part of the men and fear that their husbands would act the same for the women.

To make a long story short, we were unable to have the eviction noticed squashed, so I had to find us a new place to live. It was not an easy task because of all the publicity your grandfather had gotten. A senior citizen complex was out of the question because your grandfather told them all he was getting married and his future wife was pregnant with his child. I’m surprised he didn’t get a T-shirt made about it.

I finally found a house in a small neighborhood. Fortunately no one in there speaks English so they have no idea who your grandfather is. The house is small but adequate. I had to handle the entire move because your grandfather refused to help me. He wanted to remain in the old house and fight it out. Do you have any idea how long it takes to pack up a pack rat? The man had receipts from World War II and refused to allow me to throw them out. In addition to the WWII papers, I found his rifle complete with bayonet, his mess kit and his count down calendar. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen one, but it’s a drawing of a woman’s body with thirty little blocks in it. You start at the day thirty and work your way down to day one the day you’re going home. Day thirty starts at the toe, I’m sure you can imagine where day one is. I also found a deck of cards featuring naked women that he carried into war with him. Needless to say it was not something I wanted to confront him with.

It too me almost three weeks to pack up the house, and another two weeks to unpack at the new house. Unfortunately, your grandfather took advantage of my preoccupation and managed to create a scene at city hall. He was protesting the garbage men not picking up our garbage after he threw rocks at them for some of it dropping out of the can and onto the lawn. I didn’t know he had escaped until the noon news came on and I suddenly heard his voice. I looked up just in time to see a blocked out version of him mooning the mayor and council. I met him at the police station. I paid his bail and called our new lawyer.

At last I will come to the purpose of this letter. In your last letter you told me you were on permanent vacation from your new job. I take that to mean you’re out of work again. Since you are, I have a favor to ask. My psychiatrist has strongly suggested that I take a vacation from your grandfather. I agree that I need one. I would like for you to come and stay with your grandfather for a week or two so that I can get some rest. Normally, Aunt Esmerelda would stay with him on an occasion like this, but as you know she is doing time at the Federal Women’s Prison over her mailing me the gun and bomb making materials.

I have to close for now, my dearest. I’m tired and have only two hours before your grandfather sleeping pills wear off.

Write soon,

Love Mom