한국

Oscillating bands of white and gray sky, bony skeleton trees, rattling. High mild winds. November can still be beautiful.

I opened the windows, cleaned up the place some, two fuzzy ears sticking over the edge of the pick-up truck bed. A boy and his cat. Puck’s idea of Saturday morning entertainment.

Schnuck’s.

A bunch of flowers for Gloria’s 60th birthday – two days late: yellow roses, mauve and dark red daisies, purple “paper” flowers, and red Peruvian lilies. And a three-pack of safety scissors for Puck in green, red, and blue. Three weeks of allowance. A dollar a week adds up.

Silverspoon’s.

Puck sat beside Bær at the counter pouring out a vocabulary of “super-jonic” jets and water bombs, lava fields, and worlds I couldn’t create as a child. Not on a computer screen anyway. Snacked on tangerines. Wasn’t so interested in the jicama and roasted pepper hummus, however.

Wind whipped rain over the deck, tearing through oak leaves.

Baked sweet potatoes, pulled pork and ribs from the barbecue man on the corner, a bowl of fresh cucumber for Puck.

Because Bær occasionally hobnobs with important St. Louis people, he joined the keyboardist of The Urge for box seats at the Blues game.

Me? I had enough work coming up in a few days.

I needed my Korean fix.

“MOM! YOU KNOW HOW MOSES LIVED IN EGYPTIAN TIMES!” Puck shouted from the top bunk. His first experience there.

I turned down the sound on my Korean.

“Yes.”

“Well, maybe in Heaven he can teach us how Egyptian language sounded like. Yeah, because I’m sure he knew how to speak Egyptian.”

He’s been a little concerned about that lately.

Then he asked me to print out an hieroglyphic chart… And Korean… And Spanish.