Dear Carl by Anna Friend

(Carl’s mom writes him letters occasionally. Carl is her only child. Carl’s father died when he was in college. Living in the Arizona, Carl calls his Mom in the Carolinas as often as he can on Sundays. Carl’s mom is in her 80s. She lives in a contemporary world with old fashioned values.)

Dear Carl,

Daylight is longer. I find myself longing to be outside. I think of our home on the hill. I loved my porch. I spent many warm evenings waiting to see the dirt kick up off our long driveway. I always wanted to be waiting when your dad was returning from work. He would get out of the car and meet me on the steps. He hugged me way too tight. I found myself smoothing down my ironed apron every time. He would say, “Mama, I smell the love…what’s for supper?” That man never said a word about my White Shoulders perfume.

Carl, I miss your dad daily. We lost him so long ago, but we had something special. He wasn’t a flower and gift man, but he made me feel good. Preaching was about cherishing your spouse on Sunday. I am in my 80s and just now learning the good words of the Bible. It says that men should love their wives as their own bodies. Your dad loved me but if I went by his body, what does a pot belly, oil stained hands, and stinky boot feet say about his love? Carl, you take good care of yourself and I pray daily that you remain healthy. Son, you are to love Donna with the same care and love you have for yourself. Nourish her with good words and cherish the many years you have shared, even when she has her moments. I sound like the preacher, don’t I? I won’t apologize. Sunday was a good day in church.

We have new people moving into the cottages. Three more women moving in this weekend. Lost a few residents at Christmas and into the New Year. Shirley went to the office and made nice with the property manager. He told her the new tenants were women. You should have heard her carry on that no men were moving in. She was already planning to be the first one with her welcome basket for one. Shirley hasn’t been feeling well lately. I worry about her. She says she is okay but mourning the loss of her long, pink Cadillac Deville. The thing was a country block long. She was always bumping into things. It finally gave up and died. I think it suffocated from all her perfume.

Well, son. I must go hang some laundry. Last year they put up some clothes lines for me. The neighbors said I was making our community look cheap. I don’t care. I love hanging out my sheets. They can’t even see the laundry. The gardener that put them in hung them very low so I could reach the lines. He said, “Senora, you muy poquito – very small. I hang low for you.” He is a nice man. Shirley says he avoids her. Poor thing. She gets her feelings hurt so easily. I admit I carry out one sheet at a time. I move very slow and I am careful. Don’t worry, son.

Call me again soon, son. Tell Donna that I am sorry she has had so many headaches. Maybe she needs to stay home more and rest.

I love you, Mom

Ephesians 5:28-29 English Standard Version (ESV)

“In the same way husbands should love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. For no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, just as Christ does the church.”