Dear Cousin Cletus,
They say we’re ‘posed to stay away from folks these days. Hide at home and don’t go out unless we need to buy groceries. And stand at least six feet away when we go to the store.
Mah grandson brings me whut I need from town, so ahm in good hands. And since I don’t go out much anyhow, thet suits me jus’ fine.
Marty (mah grandson) says people is wearin’ masks in stores. I wonder whut they look like. The bank at the edge of the holler has a sign sayin’ you cain’t go in with sunglasses or hats---but it don’t say nothin’ ‘bout masks. If a robber came in, he’d be in good company, I’d say.
When I was a boy only the Lone Ranger wore a mask. But I don’t suppose thet’s the kind they want us to wear. We used to tie bandanas over our faces when makin’ hay, cause of the dust and such. Do you think they’d care if I showed up in one of them if I had to go out?
There’s one thing that this virus scare will do, Cletus, and thet’s cure some churches of making people shake hands with ever’body three times while they’re there. I’m not jokin', they started doin’ thet here in the holler, and Marty says they do thet at his big church in town too.
I don’t have nothin’ against bein’ friendly and shakin’ hands with folks when I come in the door. But why in the name of common sense do we stop in the middle of the service, just when we start thinkin’ heavenly thoughts—and interrupt by shakin’ hands agin--and tellin’ ever’body we’re glad they’re there? I think we all know thet. And then we’re ‘posed to do it again at the end of the service. Have we gone daft?
I’m stayin’ put anyhow, just like they say. Mah chickens keep me in eggs and Ol’ Bessie gives enough milk to share with the neighbors down the holler, the ones with a whole passel of kids.
Y’all take care and stay put.
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