The Last Time I Talked To My Mother...

Wow! A "how-do-you-do" and "Thank you" to all of you who are emailing me your recipes. Keep it up! Please! The Attorney General is absolutely thrilled at the prospect that I have to cook all of these for him. If that's the case he better go to the back of his closet and pull out that pair of pants with the elastic waste, is all I'm sayin'.

In fact, just to let all of you know, so that I won't get 97 recipes that I have to cook (because let's be honest, Chili's is counting on me to keep them in business) I will be cutting off the recipe challenge on Friday. That's right! You have just a couple more days to send me your best recipe. And you could win the special prize...I'm not saying what it is (mainly because I haven't bought it yet) but I would never buy anything for you that I wouldn't want myself. Therefore be gone! with anything else from Bath & Body Works or a set of Tennessee Titans coasters. We'll have none of that - I promise you.

Now, let's get on with it.

Gather all your chil'rens around the radio. Turn up the volume and sit back and relax, for now
begins another chapter in.......cue music: dum,dum,dum......

"The Last Time I Talked To My Mother."

*Herein lies a disclaimer to all of you who are easily offended. Wait for tomorrow's post. It may not be quite as offensive as what you are about it read. Don't say you were not warned.

So my mom is a wonderful woman. She really is, I probably don't say that enough. So I'll say it again, she really is a wonderful woman. She is a great communicator. Oh heavens yes! These very posts would not be possible were it not for her great skills at communicating. In fact, within her skills as a communicator lies her skill for preaching (or we can call it "teaching" for those Southern Baptists who may be reading).

Mom has great knowledge of scripture. She knows the Word, is a studier of the Word and a wonderful and charismatic communicator of the Word. Which is why she is asked to speak all over the place. To know her is to love her. And to hear her speak is to want to hear more from her....thus her invitation to come and speak at a place very rarely occupied by women teachers, The Death Row Unit of an unspecified State Penitentiary.

Cue music: dum, dum, dum.

Mom was asked to come and speak there before a gathering of men several months back. It's one thing for someone to be allowed on to this unit. It's another thing for it to be a woman. It really was an honor for my mom. And I was very proud of her, I must say. She studied hard and pulled no punches with them. She brought the Word and felt like the night was a success. She left there feeling good about it. And she should have, because only a week later she received another call to come back. The men loved her. She seemed like a "mother" to them; most people feel that way about her, you would too. She excitedly accepted and went back once more.

The men seemed more familiar this time. She saw several of the the same ones as before and even a few new faces for her to get to know . Several of them asked to help her lead in the music and she brought them on stage to sing with her. She spoke again, shared some laughs, hugged some necks, and was on her way.

A week goes by and she is invited again. This is great! Mom enjoys it, the men enjoy it - it's all good. Until...mom arrives early to set up, the men file into the room, they begin with a little music, some "Blessed Assurance" a little "Shout to the Lord" or something along those lines, she walks to the stage, opens her Bible and without blinking an eye places her hand to her forehead as if she is looking for someone and utters the word most feared...

"Where is Willie this week? Anybody seen Willie? I didn't see him in here last week either. Anybody know where in the world he is?"

Silence.

I'll let you stew on this for a moment.

My mom, ladies and gentlemen. My mom.