Good Mother Walseth
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Viking, Minnesota

Rural Reflections Radio

I’ve found over the years that people like new words to old Christmas tunes. It’s become a tradition for me to document our efforts at laying out Christmas decorations at my mother in-laws. The last few years I’ve combined these two facts to come up with a tale of woe as we decorate Mother Walseth’s (she hates that name) home for the holidays. This year’s selection is sung to the tune of “Good King Wenceslas.” Those who want to try singing it should have a little patience when they work the “Good Mother Walseth looked down” into the beat of the song. Also you may notice my reference to “Jingle Jail” which is what I’ve named this holiday tradition. I hope you enjoy it.

(moderate pace, with Christmas mirth)

Good mother Walseth looked down, prior to tree trimming.
Unknown what was soon to come, so she still was grinning.
Soon her elves would join in work, make her yard look festive.
Surprised she would surely be, when she was arrested.

Seems there had been recent storms, might be rolling black-outs.
No Christmas lights this year please, maybe just use cut-outs.
Mother Walseth never heard, use power just sparing.
This year’s display she had bragged, would be bright and glaring.

We arrived that week-end morn, steeled for this task.
We knew not to beg no more, so we didn’t ask.
Worked hard nearly all day long, made Jeanette’s yard cheerful.
She barked orders all day long, man we got an earful.

Later on it all came down, someone must have snitched.
We’d been using so much power, off we should have switched.
Instead the cops charged us all, overuse of power.
Plus we’d done it on off-peak, the horror oh the horror!

I’ve been a good son in-law, but prison isn’t for me.
I don’t like the orange clothes, plus I am too pretty.
I ratted out my mom in-law, she’s the one too blame.
I’d never used all those lights, “what you think that I’m insane?”

Mother Walseth’s yard went dark, she was fingerprinted.
The neighbor’s breathed a sigh that night, no more windows tinted.
A lawyer was appointed then, got her out that evening.
Mother Walseth was released, now she started scheming.

She said “I’m denied the grid, I’ll create our power.”
Solar power was MY choice, maybe a wind tower.
I got nervous when she looked, at her old Sears treadmill.
I feared getting roped into, something against my will.

Now I’m making kilowatts, instead of drinking cold ones.
Mother Walseth lights beam bright, steel become my buns.
Getting fit and making bright, her lighted Christmas trail.
She’s out for the holiday, I’m in Jingle Jail.

(repeat first verse, then end)