February 6, 2006

Dear Jimmy,

Well, as you know, the groundhog saw his shadow and it sure feels like it. I'm only 76, but with the wind chill factor, I feel 92. Ha! Ha! Polly Sue Golucky's daddy told me that one when he came through the Super Walmart last Friday evening. Pappy was buying some beer to make batter for the fish-fry.

Pappy and Reverend Norman are having a fish-fry to raise money for an audio-video system for the church. They're going to show the words to the songs on a big screen and play the music through the loud speakers instead of having the piano or organ.

You don't have to guess what I think about it. Sounds like gospel karaoke to me, but they say it will bring in the young people. Next thing you know they'll have testimony tattoos.

I don't think it's scriptural. But what do I know? I'm just an old widow woman.

The reverend knows what's best, I reckon. He is so compassionate and pastoral; he takes care of so many women in the church, even some of the younger ones.

But talking about parties, I was so glad that all you boys could come home for the Super Bowl Party. I don't follow that mess, but it was good to see all of you. I mean, Jimmy, the ball is not even round and why do they call it football? It doesn't get kicked more than 3 or 4 times in a game.

I appreciate you all bringing the refreshments. Though I was a little put out when you told me that folks don't usually drink punch at a super bowl party. After I had borrowed the biggest punch bowl I could from the Kiwanis Club and made my famous Debutramp Punch (I call it like I see it, Jimmy), but I noticed it did get gone pretty quick after Reverend Norman make several trips to his car and back.

And I don't understand this chicken wing business. None of you young'uns would touch a chicken wing when I used to cook them up every Sunday. I reckon it's part of this modern "hot cuisine" they have in them fancy cafes.

Speaking of meat, it's been awfully cold around here lately. What we used to call "hog-killing weather." You know, people don't kill hogs themselves much anymore. They take them to the abator-., abbatoir-., abber-.., the slaughterhouse. Oh, we used to have exciting times during hog-killing season. Your daddy, rest his parts, used to say that we used every part of the pig but the squeal!

It was real sweet of Darrell to bring me all those Hershey Kisses. Lordy, I was popping them things like they were candy! And Darrell still eats sandwiches with that one-handed style he has. Did you even notice it. He puts his thumb and pinkie on the bottom of the sandwich and the other three middle fingers on the top. Then he opens his mouth real wide and takes a big bite, shakes his head back and forth, chews it up, and down it goes. Sort of like a dog shaking a bedroom slipper.

I did get a little embarrassed when the "Rev Norm" (that's our loving nickname for him these days; we don't use his last name of Tabernacle much anymore) was saying grace and started praying for the Stealers to win. I asked him if he really thinks it matters to the Lord who wins and he said that all things matter in these latter days. Then you rolled your eyes and said, "Mama, he ain't right". I don't know if you meant "he ain't right" or "he ain't right".

It was so good to see your boy, Aaron. It sounds like he's doing real good with his glass blowing business up in Asheville, but somebody should have told me about those glass peppermints he brought. They are real pretty, but they sure tore up my upper plate. I'm lucky that I didn't throw away the set of teeth that I won playing bingo at White Lake.

That reminded me of when you brought all those nice long-haired young folks home back about 1970 and they started eating that good-smelling potpourri I kept around the house in the candy dishes. I reckon they thought it was some kind of hippie trailmix. Those people were always so nice to me and they always had that sweet smelling perfume on!

Anyway, it was so good to see you all. Everybody looks a lot more like they do now than they did before, if you know what I mean. As for Mark, that grey plaid heavy flannel shirt that he had on, is that the same one he's always worn? And he has the same plus size feet he always did. I don't mean any harm; I just notice things like that.

Oh, how I do go on. Be sure and thank Thom again for bringing that TV with the big flat screen; he just hung it on the wall. A flat TV, Jimmy! I never heard of such a thing. But, back to the game. Football is silly. Grown (very grown) men fighting over a funny-shaped ball. I asked Thom why it has to be so rough and he said that football isn't a love story; it's about winning. Boy that's the truth; sometimes it's hard to tell who's winning when you're in love. Ha Ha!

I hope you know that you embarrassed your old mother when you got so worked up over the cheerleaders. I thought you were going to come off the settee. Jimmy, those girls don't look like the cheerleaders you boys went to high school with. You know, I've got another name for girls who look and act like that. Don't ask! And the advertisements. I bet if they'd get rid of those advertisements, the game wouldn't last more than an hour.

Well, I'd better go bring in the mail. I don't think I told you that Pappy Golucky got hired on to deliver the mail. He does a good job and it's always on time, but he sure knows everbody's business since he took the job. You boys remember who you are and keep making a joyful noise!

Love, Mama