The time has come again when the well is dry and I don’t have anything entertaining to write about. It happens once or twice a year, so I go to the old mailbag and pick through the letters and emails looking for suggestions.
Those of you who have told me I am not entertaining to begin with have already had their letters answered personally. I hope you appreciate the full color photographs. Especially the gentleman who said my writing was “for the birds.” I hope you enjoy the photograph of the one I’m offering to you. To the lady who questioned my parentage and the demeanor of my mother, I’m sure you and she would have a lot in common.
I received a letter — yes, an actual letter — from a woman who asked that I talk less about my wife and if I insisted mentioning her in the column, could I be a little more complimentary? Oddly, the woman who wrote it has the same first name as my wife. There was no last name or return address. I will take her suggestion under advisement.
I guess all women with the same name stick together like some sort of secret fraternity. There might be some truth to this, because I remember way back in high school there was a group of girls who were all named Kelly who seemed to always be together. Of course, my generation had a lot of girls named Kelly, so that might just be a big coincidence.
A group of women from the Cypress Glen Retirement Community sent an email asking if I could provide more pictures of myself. They referred to themselves as “The Merry Widows” and offered fresh-baked goods for each photograph I added to the column. A few days ago, a walnut Bundt cake showed up at my house in a big heart-shaped box. I don’t know if this was a deposit, a retainer, or what, but I might have to send a snapshot or two. To the nice woman who sent the cake, it was delicious, however I am married to a wonderful woman who makes Betty Crocker and Duncan Hines look like Bonnie and Clyde.
There were 67 letters written in rather bad penmanship that were left on my doorstep. Each one of them smelled of cat food and were in tattered envelopes. They were all signed “Governor Cooper,” but the Rs were all backward. While some people might not think highly of the man in Raleigh, I am certain he can write his Rs correctly. I investigated further and asked Cooper (the cat) about this. He claimed to have no knowledge of it. I’m pretty sure he is lying because he was last seen going into the den with a book of stamps in his teeth.
A reader named Claire Grossnickle sent me a nice letter asking why I always mention her in the column. Well, the name rolls off the tongue a lot better than “Jane Smith.” I advised her, Claire Grossnickle, that I would refrain from using her name, Claire Grossnickle, until it was absolutely necessary that Claire Grossnickle get mentioned in the column. Until then, the column will be Claire Grossnickle-free and you, readers, will have to get your Claire Grossnickle from some other newspaper. This should satisfy Claire Grossnickle, but those of you who look forward to seeing her name in the paper, especially the group known as the Claire Grossnickle Appreciation Society, will most certainly be disappointed.
To that guy who doesn’t like my column, but reads it every week just so he can complain about it, could I use your name instead? I know who you are, Frank. You’re no Claire Grossnickle, but you’re somewhat amusing.
At any rate, I will be digging through the mailbag for most of the evening looking for suggestions. So far, I have found the above letters, three mailings about my car warranty and a recipe for something called “banana fudge” — which sounds about as appetizing as that plaster the orthodontist puts in your mouth to get a mold of your teeth. I’ll mull over some of the suggestions and see what pops out. If you have any suggestions, please send them to the paper and they will forward them to me.
That goes for you, too, Claire Grossnickle.
Joe Weaver, a native of Baltimore, is a husband, father, pawnbroker and gun collector. From his home in New Bern, he writes on the lighter side of family life.
