Food, Water, & Exploding Things
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
It was a triple-whammy set-up for the day.
After boiling, peeling, and stuffing thirty-six deviled eggs, OLeif drained the oil in his bike, and Puck added to another summer reading program card, it was time to go.
Silverspoon Casa.
Eleven o’clock.
Gloria had invited Pastor and Mrs. Marshall and a Japanese family, also from church. The dad had been OLeif’s classmate in Elementary Homiletics during the spring semester. Puck took little time involving their two year-old daughter in pink tutu swimsuit in lawn sprinkler and strawberry-stuffing activities.
It was nice meeting quiet people.
Two-thirty.
Back on the ranch…
All the Combs, sans Linus – at work again, were arriving. Francis and Puck got busy shooting off firecrackers without delay. Bar-light red glow-sticks from Grandma Combs. There were also bomb pops…
“I’m going to live off these this summer,” Rose noted.
Carrie promoted the idea of herself as the “Tickle Monster” to Puck, who became a little obsessed with the idea…
“Well, Sun. What would you do if I left the country?”
“I could still tickle you.”
“What if I went into space?”
Then Uncle Mo relayed the story about how, in 1981, he had been working downtown and heard a car bomb detonate. Apparently the mob had taken down Paul Leisure, an “underworld enforcer”, or at least parts of both legs.
So much for not setting off the sparkler bomb…
“Carrie, where is it?” Francis prodded. “I’m going to set it off.”
“Beg on your hands and knees,” Carrie instructed.
Francis obliged, before all present.
“Skip in place.”
Done.
“So where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
It was rustled up someplace anyway, and everyone gathered at the windows to watch after Dad adamantly commanded that NO ONE else be present out of doors. Good thing too, because…
BOOM!
“I think Francis just realized he almost lost his hand…” OLeif laughed.
Fortunately they weren’t classified as St. Louis City where fines for detonating firecrackers reached $1000, and maybe 90 days in prison…
Six o’clock.
The Expialidocious residence in the country.
“We’ll blow things up,” Oholibamah had offered, sealing the deal.
“This is… like a resort,” OLeif noted when he met up with wife and son on the jungle gym an hour later.
Trampoline.
Three acres of woods and creek bed.
Inflatable pool.
Deck and patio.
Two gardens featuring tomatoes and strawberries.
Modest vineyard.
Zipline.
Then OLeif talked with the other dads about their business trips to California and Barcelona over artisan beers.
It had been a long day. Heck, why not top it all off with Mrs. Field’s chocolate chip cookies and an eight o’clock viewing of Kung Fu Panda 2 – both boys stationed on the couch in the basement, mama cat on the arm, and baby cat wrapped in a blanket in a sleepy Puck’s lap.