Love, Jimmie

Remember when I told you that I missed my family?  And how I said I would nag the mess out of them until we all got together?  Well, mission accomplished!   

On Saturday a whole pile of us got together to hang out, eat, ride in canoes, eat, drink beers and wine, eat, shoot firecrackers, eat, listen to Martie sing, eat, and visit at Madre’s house.  A good time was had by all. 

On Saturday night, some of us wanted to continue the fun by going out on the town.  You should remember that I grew up in a small town with other small towns around it.  I told you about it.  It’s where people hunt on every major winter holiday.  It’s where my brothers tried to teach me how to gig frogs.  It’s where I raised chickens when I was in the fourth grade.  Obviously, I needed to look my best. 

I was all dolled up in my swirly-skirted sundress, my gold wedge sandals with the giant flower at the toe, gold glittery eyeliner and some smell pretty.  I was glamorous and girlie and my hair did something I wanted it to do despite the humidity and the heat.  Then Madre and I hauled ourselves up into my cousin Axle’s truck because he offered to drive.  This was a massive truck and even Madre, at 6’2”, had difficulty getting in it.  I should have known that the good times, they were a’comin. 

Axle, his wife Daisy, Madre and I rumbled off in Axle’s man-truck through our small town, through Amish country where we saw the young men getting ready to go out on dates with their hats and pipes and buggies, through the county until we got to the next small town.  We turned left by the tee pee and left in front of the Amish bread store, paid ten dollars each, met other assorted family members and prepared to see the show of our lives. 

I pranced in wearing my big old shoes and all my glitter, had a seat and listened to the opening prayer.  I do not exaggerate here. 

Heavenly Father, we’d like to thank You for Drag Racing. 

We’d like to thank You for the sport of Drag Racing.

We’d like to thank You for Sportsmanship.  

We thank You for the Brotherhood of Street Racers.

Thank You for saving us from our sins. 

Amen.   

We watched this show for hours.  We breathed smoke and nitrous oxide.  Brother Bear and his family loved every minute of it.  Axle and Daisy enjoyed it immensely.  If it weren’t for Axle, most of us would have been clueless about the majority of the cars we saw.  That boy knows every car ever made, and can tell you the make, model and year if he just gets a glimpse of the headlight.  Coach and Pooh and Tigger had been to this show before and knew what to expect. Tigger wore giant earmuffs, Pooh had ear plugs, and Coach bought snacks.  And Martie . . . .  Wow. Martie LIVED for this show.  Every car that reared up off the ground at take off had her in raptures.  Every blast of nitrous that shot out from the car gave her goose bumps.  Every rumble of every engine made her sigh.  And every car there was her dream car.  Coach has his work cut out for him if he’s planning on buying her the Best. Anniversary. Present. Ever.   

We finally left, far dirtier than when we arrived.  My hair was limp and scraggly.  My skirt no longer swirled.  My pedicure was covered in dust and possibly a little grease.  We rumbled off towards home in Axle’s man-truck.  We turned right by the Amish bread store and right by the tee pee and hit the ruts left from the Amish buggies in the road.  We all arrived home safely.

Later, I prayed my own prayer.   

Heavenly Father, thank You for my family. 

Thank You for the safe passages in all of our travels. 

Thank You for the sharp razor that I can use to shave off this beard I grew from the testosterone overload I got at the Drag Races.

Thank You for the Old Spice I found in Poppa’s bathroom.  For some reason, I really felt like smelling like Man today. 

Thank You for saving me from my sins.

Amen. 

(Special thanks to Coach for the title of this here post.)