As Puck Sees It
Saturday, October 8, 2011
In which Puck asks his standard trail of questions…
“Mama?”
“Yes, Puck?”
A increasingly lanky, yet somehow still beefy Puck, donned in yellow Budapest VBS T-shirt climbed up into the bed…
“I [fink] I saw somethin’ coming from my room.”
“What did you see?”
“Frozen fish, I [fink].”
“I don’t think there are any frozen fish in your room, bud.”
He tucked his bare legs under the covers…
“Mama?”
“Yes, Puck.”
“Will you make me toast when the sun rises?”
“Sure, buddy.”
. . . . .
“Mama?”
“Could I watch… Snooty again?”
“Snoopy? Charlie Brown?”
“Yeah. I really like that movie.”
. . . . .
“Mama?”
“Yes, Puck.”
“What are meat-eaters?”
“They eat meat.”
“In space?”
“I don’t think there are meat-eaters in space… Oh… Meteors.”
. . . . .
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Why are there squirrels building a nest in our yard?” Puck squeaked indignantly. “That is not appropriate!”
After following an obnoxious line of Welsh kings, it was going on one o’clock, and time to visit the Silverspoon’s where Curly had just called in for an hour check-up, during which a woman in her 70’s had walked past him wearing a MUSE t-shirt, followed by…
“Nana?” Puck queried, “Could we make some pumpkin pie?”
“With the pumpkin in the can?”
“No. Real pumpkin.”
Instead of the pie, Puck fascinated himself with a four-step ladder in the basement, while Gloria sorted through dusty boxes and the boys went shooting.
Dinner followed with a new hot dish of grated thin sheets of summer yellow squash, garlic, red onion, fresh melted parmesan, and red pepper. That, with grilled meats and a choice of apple wine…
“Ihhck,” said Theodore. “Too sweet.”
…or raspberry iced tea, Arizona-style.
Around his pork steak, snatches of OLeif-conversation could be heard…
“You know what Mama used to call you?” he said to Puck. “’My little Aryan child’.”
“Ha ha ha ha ha!” Puck declared, as if fully aware of any intended humor. “You’re just joking.”
And something about Puck not wanting his yogurt anymore after OLeif had taken a bite because…
“That tastes like grown-up juice.”
When they returned for the evening, Puck rushed into the loo.
“Get on your jams first, buddy,” OLeif instructed.
“Daddy, I can’t!” Puck exclaimed, in a bit of a panic. “Else they will turn into rocks!”
[Someone had been rehearsing him about the strange, and hopefully forever-unknown world of kidney stones… cough, cough.]
“Sorry, Dad. You just didn’t know any better.”
And Collette tried not to read too many articles on the upcoming match between the Cards and the Brewers.