November 1, 2003

Dear Jimmy,

Well, Jimmy, we have turned the clocks backward for another year. I just don’t know about all this messing with God’s time. You know, last year it took about two weeks for the chickens to get used to it. I swanny it did. But I think they’ll do better this year because I been turning the time back ten minutes a day for the last week to sort of ease them into it.

Jimmy, I hope you won’t mind, but I’ve let out your old room to Art Fargo (Bart and Fanny Fargo’s adopted step-brother). He needs a place to stay until they get shut of that smell at his house. They don’t know what it is, but it smells exactly like when you were five year old and you and them Seagraves boys dropped that possum down the well except different.

I remember Reverend Norman came over and wanted to know if Art wanted to put his house on the prayer list, but it don’t seem quite right to put a house on the prayer list, so he just prayed over it himself. It didn’t do no good and now Reverend Norman thinks this odor must be a sign of the end- times.

He’s gotten right bad about that end-times business lately. You don’t think he’s knows something do you?

Speaking of that Fargo gang, Bart called the house last night. You remember, he’s been gone for about ninety days. Well, he’s outside of Gastonia now, running that adult boot and shoe outlet. He doesn’t preach at that off-brand church anymore. You know that one that used to be a gas station with the albino monkey around to the back.

Bart said it really didn’t work trying to baptize in the oil pit and he kept falling off the hydraulic lift a preaching. But what finally shut it down was trying to come up with catchy sayings on that big sign with eight numbers and a decimal point.

Bless his heart.

Jimmy, how I do run on so, but I do miss you and them hot rod boys. You know, I wouldn’t give nothing to have you all sitting out on the front porch again making a racket. Be careful and keep your feet warm and your chest dry.

Love,

Mama