A Small Yawn

Puck took a ride on the mower while Carrie mulched the leaves, over and over and over again in the cold before the sleet came, and then the rain, which continued to fall throughout the afternoon. Because late autumn has finally caught up with us.

Linnea lounged in fuchsia sweatshirt and Jack Skeleton pants, studying for her first ever CLEP exam Thursday morning: Sociology.

Carrie put a large pot of homemade chicken noodle soup with German egg noodles on the stove, and a glass pan of even more homemade blueberry cake. She used ghost stories as an excuse to cuddle Puck on the couch for awhile after lunch, then taped colored paper squares over the floor. When there wasn’t an actual Twister game available, Carrie made one. I played a couple of rounds with Puck, who was busy eating dry macaroni. One gene he inherited from Aunt Onion.

Mom left with Mrs. O late that afternoon for fried pickles and “On Golden Pond” starring Mrs. Tecumseh at the community college. Puck waved Mom off from the front porch, calling out to her …

“GRANDMA! COULD YOU GET ME A FRIED CUCUMBER?! A SKINNY ONE!”

It was sort of a yawn of a day, really. I guess these lulls are necessary or we’d all be steamrolled by the time this season hits.

Old Church.

Puck raised his hand before the opening prayer with all the young ones. He was concerned that one of the little girls might have a cat at home – which she did – because he sneezed when she walked past and wanted to make that concern clear.

I was helping all these scraps that evening for an hour and a half: 100 rolled “snowballs” of white crepe paper and candy for hospitalized children in Ukraine. It does pass the time quickly.

The night. Cold, spitting rain occasionally.

Bær had spoken with a Hebrew school in Israel, researching long-distance options for the following summer. He talked with them again after reading Puck his bedtime story.