Letters With Laney

Dear Laney,

Southerners are pretty serious about their thank-you notes. If you asked an older more mature southern woman which statement is worse, "My son robbed a convenience store," or "My son never sends thank-you notes," she'd probably have some follow-up questions, like, "Did he just rob the store the one time?"

Also, I have noticed that these same women, after sending a gift, can take the suspense for about five business days before they have to call and ask, "Did you get my present?" The trick is to always get your note in during this window, because if you get the phone call, you're too late. 

When my grandmother Mama Lee died in 2004, my aunt Melanie kept an extensive list of the bereavement gifts and food, so she'd be able to write specific thank-you notes. Thank you for the squash casserole with the cheddar/Ritz topping. Thank you for the Orange Delite congealed salad with the pecans. The list was in such detail that I took a picture of it. A few years later, I needed to make a dessert for a dinner party, and I remembered a blueberry cheesecake thing I'd had after Mama Lee's service, so I pulled up that picture, zoomed in on who made it, called my aunt Sandra, and said, "Get me the recipe." 

Southern women as a whole are excellent bookkeepers, manipulative to a fault, and quick to hold a grudge; I'd say we were well-suited for organized crime, but not a one of us can keep a secret. Did you hear Velma done shot somebody and buried him under her azaleas? And that would be the end of our Cosa Nostra.

Anyway, thank-you notes are an important gesture of gratitude and something we're not going to skip in this house. We got a late start on our Christmas thank you's this year, because January was so rough, but I finally sat down a few nights ago to write some cards. You sat down next to me to help write letters to thank your grandparents and friends for all the great holiday gifts they brought or sent:

Signed, sealed, licked, licked, licked, licked, delivered, I'm yours.

Love,
Mom