Yep, happens all the time. Perhaps instead they tell you that it is for a very worthy causes nonprofit of course. Nonprofit you've never heard of have nothing to do with and have no idea if they really do anything at all. I done heard that the Chappell family is awful upset. My Cousin Peanut's brother, Chester Ches Nutt we call him Nutt is his middle name, of course. That is a different story done died back in the fall an' they just found out a while back.
They thought he had run off to join the circus. That was his life's ambition. Yessir, he wanted to be the feller what sold them hot peanuts to folks. You know the feller, the one who would throw that there bag of peanuts half way across For the last
London britches falling down years I've been searching London britches falling down a "crazy quilt" vest I can wear under my coat when I do Mountain stories and my Medicine Show.
Uncle Billy Gilbert looked over at his ol' Big Ben alarm clock to see what time it was. The moon was low but still almost full outside an' throwed Gittin' up time for many years, don't you know. Uncle Billy hadn't set an alarm for decades, didn't need to as his ol' body had a clock what had been "built in" way back yonder when work needed to start early. Like most mornin's he sat on the side of the bed an' pulled his socks on.
He knew he would be in an' out of the cabin this mornin' an' had put his long johns on just after his bath the night before.
He reached to the ol' ladder back chair for his work pants, slid them on an' stood up to put on his shirt, tuck it in an' fasten his belt. Last on was his shoes. Ol' Dog didn't make a move as he watched his master an' best friend dress. Ain't no sense actin' like some young pup an' hoppin' 'round, eager to go out an' do the mornin' business till it were time to face that cold.
Y'all would think the same if you'uns had to drape your backside over the cold snow. Few weeks ago John Hoskins had delivered a truck load of range coal. For folks what don't heat with coal range coal is a mixture of sizes from pea coal, chestnut or nut coal lumps to stove an' egg coal.
Them different sizes worked best an' gave out good steady heat. When Aunt Del had started to get right fragile they had bought a coal stoker stove with a hopper that held enough coal for several days. An electric motor shook the stoker now an' again to shake just the right amount of coal into the fire box.
Uncle Billy was proud that he had that ol' stove on mornin's like this. He looked through the front windows after he wiped away some frost an' the big ol' Coca Cola thermometer on the corner post of the porch said 29 degrees. Gee-oh, it were a cold mornin'. When Uncle Billy took Ol' Dog out he took along a bucket to fill with a bit more coal for the hopper. Didn't want to have to stop later when ever'one was here to fill it or have them boys sneak out to get coal while ever'one was enjoyin' the evenin'.
Y'see, it were a custom what had started all accidental like several years ago after Aunt Dell passed. A bunch of them boys from all over the hollers an' hills around Beloved, Kentucky got to worryin' about Uncle Billy bein' alone on Christmas Day.
Wives had prepared plates an' bowls of food for their men an' one by one the fellers showed up till Uncle Billy's ol' cabin was plumb full of men enjoyin' each other's company. Since that Christmas Day it had done become a tradition. Uncle Billy always suspected them wives was glad to get the menfolk out from under foot for a few hours. Ol' dog finished up an' ran to the door, waitin' for Uncle Billy who was a mite slower as he had a big ol' bucket of coal to carry.
He opened the door, went over to the coal stove an' poured the coal into the hopper. Turnin' his back to the stove was always the next step. Hands behind his back an' enjoyin' the warmth of the coal fire for just a moment before he went on to his next chore.
My, Oh my, but Aunt Del would whoop him if knew what he had planned. Y'see, he was at the Jot 'Em Down a few days before an' found a string of big ol Christmas lights. Y'all London britches falling down the ones with the big ol' bulbs, right?
They was even a paper sack taped to them with extra bulbs. Madge, the manager of the Jot 'Em Down had plugged them in an' they worked like stars in the night. What had he done? Nothin' but wander up the back holler to find a nice cedar tree to cut an' bring in. Though he had give away all the lights an' ornaments several years before, he still had the Christmas tree stand in the smokehouse. It took a little cleanin' to get it respectable, but it held that cedar tree up straight an' was filled with water an' a couple aspirins to keep the tree lookin' good for a few days.
Now, this mornin' was where the plan was somethin' Uncle Billy chuckled about. Aunt Del would be lookin' down from Heaven an' carryin' on to ol' Saint Pete about her husband's plan.
For he had done got into that ol' hump back trunk that hadn't been open London britches falling down a time or two since Aunt Del died. Layin' on the table was Aun't Del's Jewelry box, a bunch of white cardboard boxes what London britches falling down sat in that trunk for years an' a few other knick-knacks an' do-dads.
As if he had found a treasure, he carefully opened them white cardboard boxes first. Over many years folks, family and friends had given Aunt Del costume jewelry, broaches, clip on earrings, necklaces an' even things covered with rhinestones that folks should have known Aunt Del would never wear.
She would thank them, try the things on her plain apron or dress One by one he took out the pieces of jewelry an' hung them on the branches of the cedar tree. He already wrapped Jot 'Em Down Christmas lights 'round the tree the day before.
The lights shined real steady like with greens, reds, blues an' yellows.
After all the boxes was empty, Uncle Billy opened Aunt Del's jewelry box an' took out the few things she did wear, a simple pearl necklace what was bought for her by Uncle Billy when he was overseas durin' the war. She knew it weren't real pearls, but they was the best jewelry she had. He then turned to several cigar boxes, full of Aunt Del's treasures. A right smart while back Aunt Del had been given a piece of Bakelite jewelry an' London britches falling down one vanity she had allowed herself was to collect pieces when she would see them in a second hand store or when folks might have a piece or two as they was sellin' by the side "London britches falling down" the road durin' road side yard sales.
Uncle Billy carefully wound Bakelite necklaces amongst the branches, put bracelets on branches an' even clipped earrings high in that ol' cedar tree.
When he finished with all of Aunt Del's treasures an' jewelry he stood back an' looked with pride at his handiwork. His eyes filled with tears as he gently touched the pearls, the bracelets, necklaces an' bangles.
Somethin' was missin' though. After a few minutes he realized what was needed an' made a cone out of some sturdy paper. He wrapped the cone in tinfoil, made wings from wax paper an' then rummaged through the ol' humpback trunk till he found what he was lookin' for.
A pair of scissors in hand, some cuts an' nips an' his angel was complete. As he looked at the angel he realized them wax paper wings just weren't right. A few more minutes of huntin' an' rummagin' around didn't satisfy him. He stood lookin' at the tree, the "almost done" angel in his hand. Then a thought hit him an' he went out the door an' to the end of the porch. There, just there, between the logs where they had laid for several years was just what he needed for the wings.
A little tape, careful positionin' an it was done. Uncle Billy carefully placed his homemade angel on the top of the tree an' stood back. He smiled to himself as he looked. Why, that was most likely the most perfect Christmas tree ever. An' it made that ol' man weep as he stood there. He weren't London britches falling down to do such "London britches falling down" was not goin' to stand there an' carry on like that.
We need to walk London britches falling down ridges of a couple hills this mornin. Ol' Dog followed, tail waggin' as man an' dog slowly made their way up the hill.
They walked ever so long, pausin' now an' again, sometimes to let Uncle Billy Gilbert wipe his eyes with that ol' red bandana he carried in his left back pocket. He was back to the cabin in plenty of time to tidy up before the fellers started to arrive. Over the years he had hunted through the boxes an' bins till he found mismatched forks, spoons, knives an' plates, some a little careworn but serviceable for that one evening each year when menfolk showed up with bowls, platters, margarine tubs an' plates full of Christmas cheer.
The first year he had to hunt an' scrounge for enough silverware, bowls an' plates for ever'one. When the men arrived, each would brag on the cedar Christmas tree decorated so well with Aunt Del's treasures. More than one joshed Uncle Billy that they expected Aunt Del to be knockin' on the door of the cabin any minute to whoop up on Uncle Billy for doin' such with her jewelry.
More than one gruff ol' man turned a head or stepped out on the porch to wipe away tears. Y'see, not all at once, not all together, just now an' again a feller would pause to look at the tinfoil angel, steppin' close to the tree to get a good look, smellin' the rich fragrance of the cedar. They looked close at Uncle Billy's handiwork. One by one they realized that Uncle Billy had found a photo of Aunt Del when she was young, cut out her face an' attached
London britches falling down to the top of the tinfoil angel.
They they would look at the wings, pause London britches falling down wonder. For you see, after Aunt Del passed, Uncle Billy found her two tortoise shell hair combs that she wore on either side of her bun laid carefully between the logs, just down there where she would sit each evenin' as she took down her bun, unbraided her hair an' brushed it slowly before rebraidin' an' pinnin' her hair back up into a bun.
Them tortoise shell hair combs were a treasure he kept in that place to be taken out an' held time an' again as he dreamed of her, remembered the touch of her hand, the strokes of the brush through her hair. Them combs were treasure found by accident. Happy London britches falling down Be Nappy and Other Stories of Me () · London britches falling down Together .
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