01 June 2011
410
R. Linda:
Here it is, just opened it. The woman has nothing better to do than tell tales on me Da and plan me life, or more like invade it. Oi!
Dear Gabriel (me one an only sonny boy who I be still countin' on ta move in wit when yer faather kicks da bucket),
I be writing real slow fer ya son, I know ya ain't a fast reader, so taken dat ta heart I be. So here be wot has me this Sunday mornin', it be yer faather, your grandfaather and yer brother-in-law that no good Donnel person or, wot ever his real name be.
Las nite, da tree of em' went out carousin' at O'Lanahan's Pub dey did. Dey gave me sum excuse dey was goin ta look at some sheep fer sale, but I said to yer faather, "Wot fer do we need sheep? We ain't got no yard ta speak ah and we liv in da middle of town." But yer faather had it in his mind dat I would like sum real wool and da only way to have real wool was ta buy a sheep AND he has it in hiz head dat I could make a fortune knittin' Aran sweaters ta send over da pond to YOU sonny boy, ta sell so's yer can make a decent livin' instead ah pushin a pencil all day an doin nuthin'.
But back ta las nite. Da tree of em bought a sheep dey did, only dey dun't remember where dey left it. Dey stopped after purchase at O'Lanahan's to celebrate an dey lost not only da sheep but time. Dey fergot why dey had stopped off and on da way home one ah dem noticed dey was up by St. Mary's cemetery, an a stone wall and field full a headstones made one ah dem remember dey had bought sumthin but couldn't remember wot, just dat it should be in a field with a stone wall.
So da fools jumped over da stone wall and sat on it lookin at da gravestones tryin ta remember, when yer brilliant brother-in-law wots his name said ta da utter two, "Lookee dere dis Kevin Clancey, God rest his soul, lived ta da ripe old age a 73."
Not ta be outdone yer grandfaather piped up, "Well, dat ain't nuthin' lookee dere, John Slogum aged 95 died of the pneumonia, poor man."
But yer faather, God help us all, stumbled over to another stone and said, "Good God, dis man lived ta 145 years old!"
The utter two were amazed and asked fer the name, surely dis was sumthin it was and surely dey had heard of this old geezer. So yer faather lit a match and read out ta dem, "Miles."
"Wot be da last name?" Grandfaather urged.
Yer faather lit another match and leaned down and read out, "from Dublin."
Yep, dey wuz all taken wit dat dey were. Not one of em' understood dey wuz readin' on a road marker da dolts.
More n' more I be tinkin yer faather needs him a holiday. I tink instead o' waitin' till next October fer our annual visit we should make us a permanent move to yer house. We ain't bringin' grandda if I kin help it but if we haf ta, I can turn yer office inta a nice comfy room fer em'.
"I'll be in touch darlin' boy."
Love and hugs, yer little grey-haired, apple-cheeked Mam.
P.S. And remember Gabriel wot yer sainted grandmaw used ta say, "Put a begger on a horse an he'll ride ta hell."
Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
Here it is, just opened it. The woman has nothing better to do than tell tales on me Da and plan me life, or more like invade it. Oi!
Dear Gabriel (me one an only sonny boy who I be still countin' on ta move in wit when yer faather kicks da bucket),
I be writing real slow fer ya son, I know ya ain't a fast reader, so taken dat ta heart I be. So here be wot has me this Sunday mornin', it be yer faather, your grandfaather and yer brother-in-law that no good Donnel person or, wot ever his real name be.
Las nite, da tree of em' went out carousin' at O'Lanahan's Pub dey did. Dey gave me sum excuse dey was goin ta look at some sheep fer sale, but I said to yer faather, "Wot fer do we need sheep? We ain't got no yard ta speak ah and we liv in da middle of town." But yer faather had it in his mind dat I would like sum real wool and da only way to have real wool was ta buy a sheep AND he has it in hiz head dat I could make a fortune knittin' Aran sweaters ta send over da pond to YOU sonny boy, ta sell so's yer can make a decent livin' instead ah pushin a pencil all day an doin nuthin'.
But back ta las nite. Da tree of em bought a sheep dey did, only dey dun't remember where dey left it. Dey stopped after purchase at O'Lanahan's to celebrate an dey lost not only da sheep but time. Dey fergot why dey had stopped off and on da way home one ah dem noticed dey was up by St. Mary's cemetery, an a stone wall and field full a headstones made one ah dem remember dey had bought sumthin but couldn't remember wot, just dat it should be in a field with a stone wall.
So da fools jumped over da stone wall and sat on it lookin at da gravestones tryin ta remember, when yer brilliant brother-in-law wots his name said ta da utter two, "Lookee dere dis Kevin Clancey, God rest his soul, lived ta da ripe old age a 73."
Not ta be outdone yer grandfaather piped up, "Well, dat ain't nuthin' lookee dere, John Slogum aged 95 died of the pneumonia, poor man."
But yer faather, God help us all, stumbled over to another stone and said, "Good God, dis man lived ta 145 years old!"
The utter two were amazed and asked fer the name, surely dis was sumthin it was and surely dey had heard of this old geezer. So yer faather lit a match and read out ta dem, "Miles."
"Wot be da last name?" Grandfaather urged.
Yer faather lit another match and leaned down and read out, "from Dublin."
Yep, dey wuz all taken wit dat dey were. Not one of em' understood dey wuz readin' on a road marker da dolts.
More n' more I be tinkin yer faather needs him a holiday. I tink instead o' waitin' till next October fer our annual visit we should make us a permanent move to yer house. We ain't bringin' grandda if I kin help it but if we haf ta, I can turn yer office inta a nice comfy room fer em'.
"I'll be in touch darlin' boy."
Love and hugs, yer little grey-haired, apple-cheeked Mam.
P.S. And remember Gabriel wot yer sainted grandmaw used ta say, "Put a begger on a horse an he'll ride ta hell."
Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved
16 comments:
I STILL want to know what happened to the sheep!LOL
You'll be changing your blog name to the Apple Cheeked Mam Letters soon! I love them, keep them coming.
Are we related? This sounds a lot like my old mum. Oh and they probably ate the sheep, that's what I would have done, mutton and Jamesons good to last bone I always say.
i thinks da sheepie be at me house
Well, that solves that mystery.
soooo, you gonna change the blog name? huh? LOL
You saw that did you? Nah never. What would I do without me Muse?
shoulda put the sheep in the pot with potatoes and onions! And Mr. Gabe, what would that dish be?
Baaa Gabe, sounds like your relatives met up with Babbra from the UK. Only they ate her? Perfectly good fishnets gone to waste, tsk.
Forget the fishnets! A perfect Saturday night DATE!
Exactly what he meant there Muse. Geez you two.
Pardon me. I thought he was lamenting the loss of the tights!LMAO
I would could get used to eating sheep. I haven't had a good leg o' mutton since ... since ... since the crew threw me and Babbra overboard!
Was just a joke! Why would you change the blog name? No worries Mobit, you be famous now! We all be following. That should tell you something.
What does your mom mean by put a beggar on a horse and he'll ride it to hell? Where did that come from?
I googled the proverb. Look it up, it's out there!
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