I had brought a few gifts from my neck of the woods and Sunday morning, it was time to instruct Boy Jots in the careful use of the molinillo. We made a big pan of Mexican hot chocolate. As he sampled his first (of many) cups, he smacked his lips and gave the cocoa his approval. “What all do you taste?” I queried him. “Chocolate … milk … cinnamon!” So he already has the makings of a chef about him.
We went to church and I got to meet many, many cool people (including one who has commented on this blog – my head was swimming, darlin’, sorry I didn’t realize it was YOU at first). I was introduced to their minister emeritus, who began his career as a Universalist minister. I got to chat with him – actually, just listening, trying to soak up everything like a sponge – for a few minutes before we went in the service. Pondered whether I could pack him in my carryon and bring him home. Heard a message from the other minister that is near and dear to my heart. Great music, too.
Went to lunch at a place that looked familiar to me. Odd, since I’ve never been to this town before. Ahhh … Diners, Drive-ins and Dives. Shared a humongous plate of black beans on corn cakes with Jots. Stuffed. Optimistic Undertaker was there, with his baby brother. Optimistic Undertaker cracked even more bad jokes, at which point I decided to yet again rename him, this time to Bad Man.
Went home for a quick nap for Jots and some puttering around for me. Boy Jots and I sadly discovered that his silly putty would not pull up the cartoon images from the Sunday paper. I’m crossing my fingers that it’s because this was the glow-in-the-dark putty. I mean, what could be sadder than if you couldn't pick up comics with Silly Putty?
Went in to church for Jots to do the evening church service. (With really cool music – yessir, we were LIVE and PLUGGED IN.) Jots had me read a couple of poems, filled with words I didn’t know how to pronounce. Utsuroi??? I was sitting by Mama Jots during the service and after I did the first poem, she reached over and patted my arm. Awww. Afterwards, I got to hang with Bad Man’s wife, Sweet Thang. We both have 13 year olds, so we got to compare notes.
Went home to find that Mr. Jots, Bad Man and Bad Man’s Baby Brother had beat us there. I introduced them to chocolate cake shots, with the explanation that it’s not a chick drink, it’s a science experiment. Jots introduced me to their home brew. We began playing dueling-iPods. “Okay, I’ll listen to ‘They Ain’t Making Jews Like Jesus Anymore,’ but you have to listen to ‘Whiskey or God.’”
Took a trip around the block to drop off something at Country Gentleman’s* house. He and his purty date pull up as we’re leaving, so we all go in and have some rum punches. It all gets a bit hazy after that.
Oh, I’m kidding. Good conversation ensues, especially about the trips Country Gentleman and Jots have taken to work on rebuilding Mississippi.
Somewhere in all the conversation about good, noble pursuits, Bad Man shares more really bad jokes, at which point he gets his final blog name, BAD BAD MAN. Sweet Thang would probably corroborate the appropriateness of the moniker. Apparently she got tired of apologizing all the time for him, so now she just hands out a printed disclaimer upon meeting anyone new.
Went home, crashed. A very spiritually fulfilling Sunday.
* Country Gentleman, not to be confused with Southern Gentleman. But I’m not calling Southern Gentleman by that name anymore anyway. Keep up, will ya?