Mama Writes From Home
Dear Alvis:
Things are much the same in Hootin Holler. Lately, I have a terrible case of nerves. I have tried relaxing, but feel more comfortable, tense. Your father says the best thing for a case of nerves is a case of beer. We have talked about moving to someplace where the economy is doing better, then your father reminds me that the grass may seem greener on the other side of the fence, but it is just as hard to cut.
Speaking of grass, we have had so much rain lately; we have to mow the grass two times a week. Last night we took a walk in the back yard, and I swear we could hear it growing. When we were younger, your father and I used to walk in the rain all the time. He joked that he did not mind getting wet because he was wash and wear. Later, he kidded that he was permanent press. Your father now says he doesn’t like to walk in the rain because he is not wrinkle free
Lazlo Thomas brought his new fiancé to the house for a visit. Her name is Soupie. Lazlo is still as lazy as ever. They met in the employment line at the corncob pipe factory. Lazlo doesn’t go over there to find work, but to pick up girls. Boy are they ever a pair. Soupie doesn’t want Lazlo to exercise or work because it makes him smell bad. Your father says, “Soupie is stupie.” He also says Lazlo will not amount to much after he is married because he hasn’t added up to much so far. I think Soupie is better at love than she is at math.
Recent efforts to get together a Hootin Holler band were a failure. It seems none of the would-be band members could read music or play any of the right notes during practices. Your father says in their case, perfect pitch means throwing away the instruments and not hitting the sides of the dumpster with them. We tried to donate your great grandpa’s old banjo to the band, but they turned it down even after we told them there were no strings attached.
Well, must go and help your father. He found what looked like an old hand grenade in with grandpa’s old WWII stuff and wanted to see if it was real. It was.
Love,
Mama
Things are much the same in Hootin Holler. Lately, I have a terrible case of nerves. I have tried relaxing, but feel more comfortable, tense. Your father says the best thing for a case of nerves is a case of beer. We have talked about moving to someplace where the economy is doing better, then your father reminds me that the grass may seem greener on the other side of the fence, but it is just as hard to cut.
Speaking of grass, we have had so much rain lately; we have to mow the grass two times a week. Last night we took a walk in the back yard, and I swear we could hear it growing. When we were younger, your father and I used to walk in the rain all the time. He joked that he did not mind getting wet because he was wash and wear. Later, he kidded that he was permanent press. Your father now says he doesn’t like to walk in the rain because he is not wrinkle free
Lazlo Thomas brought his new fiancé to the house for a visit. Her name is Soupie. Lazlo is still as lazy as ever. They met in the employment line at the corncob pipe factory. Lazlo doesn’t go over there to find work, but to pick up girls. Boy are they ever a pair. Soupie doesn’t want Lazlo to exercise or work because it makes him smell bad. Your father says, “Soupie is stupie.” He also says Lazlo will not amount to much after he is married because he hasn’t added up to much so far. I think Soupie is better at love than she is at math.
Recent efforts to get together a Hootin Holler band were a failure. It seems none of the would-be band members could read music or play any of the right notes during practices. Your father says in their case, perfect pitch means throwing away the instruments and not hitting the sides of the dumpster with them. We tried to donate your great grandpa’s old banjo to the band, but they turned it down even after we told them there were no strings attached.
Well, must go and help your father. He found what looked like an old hand grenade in with grandpa’s old WWII stuff and wanted to see if it was real. It was.
Love,
Mama
posted by The Joker at 9:57 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home