A Little Quiet
Wind was high that mild Sunday morning of sun. Mom left the windows and doors open to invite in spring. It was more than welcome to join us again. And by the afternoon, it had brought rain clouds for company. But the rain held off.
I saw Puck standing in the street surrounded by a ring of neighbor friends. Yali stood right beside him. Both boys wore neon-bright Under Armour tops, gifts from Irish. Puck in the orange, Yali in the yellow. When the sun was out between clouds, they hurt my eyes.
“We’re the blinding brothers!” Puck announced at lunch.
At least I can’t lose them in those colors. Anyway, Puck seemed to have the ring of kids spellbound as he shared hero stories of himself, tales of how he’d saved his little brother from various disasters. Yali just stood there beside him, confirming these heroics by grinning, slapping high fives with the crowd, and passing out “thumbs up”.
Everyone else was here and there for the afternoon. Mom took a nap. Oxbear eventually brought the boys with him on some errands, returning awhile later with Puck’s bike and Reeses peanut butter eggs. Joe and Jaya were at dancing lessons. Irish was at work. Rose and I reviewed the basement for cracks; the foundation needed addressing soon.
In the process we discovered our old St. Louis Symphony “Picture the Music” artwork portfolio stashed in the basement. Looked like between the oldest four we had raked in about seven winnings over the years, including the prestigious Leonard Slatkin Award for Elmer and Rose.
Later, Carrie-Bri, Rose, Francis and I conferenced in the living room, talking light politics. Eventually Rose gave Francis the Myers-Briggs personality test:
INTJ. Just like Dad.
“I’m only 3% intuitive?” Francis asked, baffled. “That’s not right.”
“That’s because you didn’t answer some questions correctly,” Carrie-Bri explained.
Yes, it is possible to take a personality test incorrectly. Then Rose took it. Same answer. Something didn’t add up about that. Not one of the six of us are that much alike.
As we left later, the sky resembled corners from the Sistine Chapel, a little light rain, almost light enough not to notice except for the sound of it hitting the trees and the pavement.
Back home, Yali battled it out between an airplane and a triceratops in the kitchen while dinner was cooking.
And the wind kept howling into the night.