And so it Begins
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
OLeif had forgotten to take his suit coat and tie for preaching that morning. He would be making an emergency visit to The Scholar Shop that afternoon.
Dried helicopters festooned the front yard – already – in bundles.
Hard-boiled eggs.
Rain appeared to be on the move; Thursday’s high predicted at 63. Thirty degree drop in three days. St. Louis.
Puck had requested an “Easter shirt” for Donkey. So came an outgrown pair of swimming shorts from his drawer in white and sort of blue, green, and black paisley blossoms. As Collette stitched away on her bed, Puck sat beside her.
“Puck, you need to pray for Daddy today. He’s pretty nervous. He’s preaching his very first sermon this afternoon.”
Puck took the small package of M’nMs that OLeif had brought back for him from work the previous evening and propped himself up against the window above the bed. Collette could hear him speaking softly…
“Dear Jesus. Please save my daddy. He’s very nervous. So please help him not to be nervous.”
As it turned out, OLeif returned for a pick-up of his suit coat, and joined them for lunch while he was at it.
The day was sort of tepidly brown-gray throughout the morning and afternoon.
Puck’s face and hands got plastered in apple red marker – somehow – during Quiet Hour. So did his wall, door, dresser, chair, foot rest, and bed.
With his name.
Collette was displeased at this juvenile frenzy of labeling.
“Mama,” he hurried into her room to pat her shoulder with his chubby red hand. “I just did it to show that all of these things were mine. Can’t you just forgive me, Mama? It’s alright. It’s just a marker. Why am I so much in trouble?”
He returned to his room. One more confession he had to get off his chest…
“And I even wrote on my vent!”
Days passed quickly.
Sweep-up after lunch – potato chips and… silly putty.
Collette finished the first sleeveless sleeve of Donkey’s shirt on the porch while Puck ran around – still red-faced in his war paint – waving to school buses, adding more artistry to the porch and driveway, etc.
Tasha returned and departed, returned again, trudged across the yard to chat. Her mid-90’s mom was returning to enter hospice.
The gray hung light, waiting for something.
Birds squawked awkwardly – like laser blasts from the stomping big-headed forest monsters in “Return of the Jedi”.
Indoors, Puck waited for some makeshift macaroni and cheese, involving cheddar, potato starch, and butter.
Collette rummaged for some snaps in her sewing bag for Donkey’s shirt…
“Are you putting on the finishing touches, Mama?” Puck wanted to know.
OLeif’s first encounter with the pulpit was completed by 3:00.
He returned – relieved – with positive feedback and instructive criticisms from classmates and Dr. Honeycutt.
The southwest clouded in darkly.
Gloria called to thank Puck for his note in the mail. She mentioned the bevels of tornadoes sweeping through Texas that day. Since almost all of OLeif’s family were in Texas of course, Gloria had made the round of calls.
Rain began to fall.
As Puck went down for the night, he tucked Donkey beside him in his own bed – converted tissue box.
“Mama? Will you please pray for Donkey? He’s a little bit scared. Because he’s in his own bed tonight. He’s not going to sleep with me. Dad? Can Donkey still breave [breathe]? He has blankets over his head. Will he suffocate?”
Collette joined OLeif in reviewing his sermon analysis on DVD. Surprising to see him behind the pulpit, but also natural. He did not appear nervous.
Before OLeif dove in for the feathers, they flipped on a loner from the library whose case wreaked of cigarette smoke, as a large spider squiggled across the floor.
Spiders.
Unacceptable.