The Christmas Letters by Lee Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

though now we have become Methodists (Sandy’s choice) instead of Church of Christ. The Methodist Church is right down the street from us here in Hummingbird Heights, so Sandy thought it would help us all get adjusted faster to our new lifestyle, and honestly, one church is as good as another as far as I’m concerned! The First Methodist Church has a very active MYF, so the kids will like it better anyway. The singing is not as good, I must say, but I love the prayers and responsive readings in the back of the Hymnal, which are just pure poetry in my opinion. That may not sound very religious, but it is true!
    Anyway, as you can tell, life is full and good—maybe it is too full, but it is still good. We only regret that it did notwork out for Joe at Copeland Construction, but we wish you good luck, Joe, in whatever field you decide to go into. This goes for everybody—here’s to a happy and productive 1976!
Lots of love to all of you
from all of us,
Sandy, Andrew, Claire,
Melanie, and James and
Mary Copeland
(Wow! What a mouthful!)
    And speaking of “mouthfuls,” here’s an indispensable recipe from Cooks on the Run:
    SPEEDY ITALIAN SUPPER
1 lb. sweet Italian sausage
1 lb. hot Italian sausage
A couple of peppers & onions
1 lb. pasta, any kind
1 large jar spaghetti sauce
Cut up sausages and sauté with vegetables. Add spaghetti sauce, heat through. Serve over pasta.

    December 20, 1985
    Merry Christmas! to Ruthie, Mama, and Close Friends Only,
    Now that Copeland Construction is sending out those big metallic cards —I did not pick them out, in case you get one of those too! Back to the old carbon paper for this letter. I’ll try to type hard.
    And let me say that it is a relief to sit down for a minute! I am surrounded by boxes as I write. This is getting to be an old story, isn’t it? I don’t know why we never seem to move in the summertime, it would be so much easier. But I have told Sandy, this is it ! I plan to die in this house! You should have seen the way he looked at me when I said it. Then he just about died himself, laughing at me. Of course a man does not relate to a house the way a woman does —for Sandy, a house is something you build, not something you live in. And I’ll swear, he can’t even look at a piece of land (or a mountain, or a beach) without imagining a house on it. Or something on it . . . and now they are building golf courses, too, as I have mentioned before.
    This house, which I hope to die in—so write it down in your Rolodexes—is #5 Stonebridge Club Estates. It’s a“new” Victorian with so many turrets and terraces that I lose track of them. Sandy and the decorator had a “field day” planning everything. It’s a lot of fun, but almost too grand for me! I feel like somebody on a British show on public television, as in “Upstairs, Downstairs.”
    You know that I have been after Sandy for years to slow down, relax, get a hobby . . . well, the good news is that he has taken up golf—he says that if he’s going to build these courses, he might as well learn the game. The bad news is that he’s gotten so “hooked” on it that he spends every free minute out on the course, it’s like another job! Men! But I guess he is enjoying it—poor thing, he deserves to, he has worked so hard all his life, you know, even in junior high and high school down in Florida. Sandy never wants to talk about his past. He says he has “put all that behind” him. Which is certainly true—why, we barely know Sandy’s family. His parents have been dead for years, and I have never even met two of his brothers, who live out West. I think this is a shame, but Sandy says it is American! It certainly isn’t Southern, as I pointed out to him, but then Florida certainly isn’t the South.
    Oh well! Who am I to say? I had it so easy, by comparison. And as for the kids today, well . . . “‘nuff said”! We give them too much, if you ask me. I think they all ought to work. But strangely