I got me a smoker, boys. That's right, a Brinkman charcoal smoker.. I reckon I can squeeze a few hams in there. See, my husband is a southern gentleman, as was my father. We have a cast iron skillet orgins unknown, just one of the things that was here in his parents home, that we call home now.
Gone is Gladys, the housekeeper who used to knock him upside the head from time to time. He still calls her to check on her these days. He keeps his memories alive by devoting part of our backyard into a garden with turnips, mustard and collards. We harvest enough tomatoes to feed the neighborhood, though we share with friends and family only as they are in high demand.
Our house is an interesting mix of our belongings, I put my fancy china from my mother's mother on his parent's country sideboard he calls a Hutch. I have pictures of my foreign travels , he has newspaper clippings of his baseball career. My music spans the spectrum, his music is country rock and country. He's a sucker for slow dancing, opening car doors and never letting a woman drive when he is in the car. A woman's decision is that of the family's, and what she says goes. It's her house, not his. A good day off for him is one he can spend in the yard working then napping to a baseball game, a car race, or just Fox News. He loves his country, the land of the free, the home of the brave. He walks right up to uniformed men to shake their hand and look them in the eye and say thank you for serving for us. It's his right as an American Man.
So I bought that new smoker, the one he has wanted for a long time and some new patio furniture, so we can sit outside in the Fall when the heat has broke from a long hot summer. We will have people over on the weekends to our home. Everyone is welcome and we enjoy the company, it's a nice way to catch up after a busy week.