I would have provided some photos of my wife's prepared meal but I feared the Food Network would sue me for insulting their programming.

My bride of nearly 61 years!

Good morning folks. Today is Monday, August 18, 2025, and I woke up this morning feeling fine. I say that because on Saturday I hit the three score and 19 years mark. I am a realist in noting that feeling fine is a relative term because feeling fine at 79 years plus 2 days is quite different than feeling fine at a much younger age. My wife. She is something else. From our first birthdays together back in 1965, (and even before while we were dating), we've done our best to make them a big deal. Back when we started there wasn't a lot of there there for us to work with, but, we did go out of our way as best we could. There's a country saying that has ended up meaning a great meal including great hospitality, one of two options: Put the little pot in the big pot, or Put the big pot in the little pot. People in the South use it both ways as an idiom to denote a special time especially when food is involved. That's just what our Southern cook did for me on Sunday along with about 15 others to celebrate my 79th rotation around the sun. Her menu, two pot roasts with carrots, potatoes, gravy galore, rice, fresh field peas, fried okra, fresh sliced tomatoes, corn on the cob, some of the best cornbread ever, ice tea and dessert consisting of an Italian creme cake with Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla ice cream. I obtained a diabetic concession day from the powers that be, (approved by me, myself, and I), therefore, I did two plates. Sorry. Even though George Washington most likely did not cut down a cherry tree, in my case, I cannot tell a lie because I had two plates. On most days I do myself a whole lot of resisting but here's the bottom line. Little pots, big pots, and everything in-between, every morsel of every bite was melt in your mouth delicious. Now you know why I have myself a conniption fit when I see an eatery declaring itself to feature 'home cooked'. That's like people saying canned biscuits are as good as mom makes. I'm not sure who to pity. Mom or the sadly uninformed biscuit eater. (I always wanted to use biscuit eater and I finally worked it in. Yay!) I cannot let these falsities stand, not on my watch, but, thanks again sweetheart for your many hours, that's right, the get up early and stay late kind of work that made my birthday so special.

 

I have a way of saying things that some folks don't appreciate. I tell my family that I am doing well and I will be doing well until I'm not, period. While the timing is in God's purview, it doesn't take an IQ much greater than that of a banana to know that at 79 that 'until I'm not' is closer for me than ever before. When you read today's edition, don't get me wrong. I am not against eating out. As long as they serve supper around 4 p.m. I am up for it. You do know that's a joke. Right? We eat out a lot. Therefore, when I tell you about the false flag portraying food as home cooked, I am someone who knows the difference. I do. I really do. What's that? I am just prejudicial towards my wife's cooking. Okay, you go ahead and sleep well believing that. Meanwhile, could y'all pass me another helping of the cornbread covered with field peas and fried okra. Thanks. May God bless each one is my prayer. Amen and Amen.