so i woke up with the jimmy legs this morning. couldn't stand to stand still or sit down for long. i wanted to walk to church but i didn't think your mother was up to it, so we drove the old black Kia. it needs oil or something in the gearbox, according to amy, cuz it's starting to get herky jerky. i'll remind her of it on Monday. and don't say fat chance. my memory works as well as it ever did. whoops. guess i better write it on the calendar.
both your mother and i bore our testimonies in fast & testimony meeting. your mother's was very sweet and loving. mine was in a big booming voice, my radio newscaster voice. i just said the basics, didn't fool around with any stories or travelogues. from the faces of some of the kids in the pews i bet i scared 'em a little bit.
back home we watched a youtube book of mormon church video for sunday school. we haven't gone to our ward sunday school in over a year. uncomfortable cold folding chairs and i'm afraid the teachers are often overwhelmed and distracted college students who don't get enough sleep and are so earnest they forget their teacher training -- do they still have that class? i haven't taken it in twenty years. haven't taught a class in over twenty years, either.
so back home after watching the video we both tried napping but amy had to get to work on some crocheting and i was too hungry. we broke our fast with grits, sausage, rice krispies, canned diced tomatoes, and some green powder your mom mixes into the blender and drinks every morning. i try to look the other way when she swallows it.
then it was off to choir practice. only 5 people showed up, and three of them were kids.
then back home, and the jimmy legs were worse than ever. so i decided to mix up a batch of whatchagot soup and take it door to door until it was all gone.
into the pot i threw 2 cans of cream of chicken soup. a container of leftover spaghetti squash. can of green beans. can of corn. can of diced potatoes. fried up some onions to put in the whole mess, and added two cans of Swanson's breast white meat chicken. let it simmer a half hour, the got the cart out of the community room and your mom and i went door to door. we served ten people from that one pot, and in return got a dollar bill, a big can of Crisco. 4 dozen eggs. a bag of sugar. a bag of flour. and a carton of butter. so we made out like bandits.
now it's five o'clock and the first presidency christmas message will be airing in another hour. i'm resting my tootsies in the recline and your mother is in the bedroom on the desktop working on family history files.
later tonight we'll draw the blinds, lock the door, and watch a couple more episodes of The Blacklist. we're on season 7, and the whole shebang has turned into a comic book. i think they're going to go to mars by season 9.
our health is passable. your mother eats cookies and ice cream and manages to look like Anne Margret. Me, I'm still the pillsbury doughboy.
we rejoice to think that daughter daisy is moving out here next week, i think it is, and will be joining ed. i hope all you kids know that you are always in our prayers and in our hearts, and can never hear your voices or see your faces without our hearts racing like mad with happiness.
guilt. guilt. guilt. guilt. guilt. guilt. guilt. guilt. guilt.
did you see our latest reel video on youtube?
https://www.youtube.com/shorts/Yg-miXN0Qic
just 2 poems i wrote this week:
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