August 22
Sunday, August 22, 2010
5:47. Wake-up call. This time, because Puck had thumped his head, in his sleep, on the post of his bed, or somewhere there… apparently…
Before leaving that morning, OLeif snipped down, rather, razed, the tangle of ivy and scrub bush that was Collette’s post-Edenly garden along the wood fence. Oh well. Things came and left.
To church.
Augustus was back. Full-bearded.
“Abe Lincoln,” OLeif named him.
After church, Carrie-Bri and Rose shared amusing tales from church on Saturday night. Eustace, the music director, had been absent for the evening, so needless to say, the singing had been… interesting. And at one point, while learning a new song during the service and apparently things weren’t going so well, the fill-in director said to the congregation, “Ok, don’t sing this part. It’s too hard.” Only at Memorial…
Meanwhile, Dad was in Iowa for the week…
“Someone’s been stealing my socks,” Francis muttered, walking through the kitchen.
“Who would steal your socks, Francis?”
“Rose does.”
In other news, Rose had dug up Collette’s fourteen year-old sort of Grecian-Renaissance-garden ten dollar tabletop fountain from Sam’s, and got it working again in her room, which she and Carrie had rearranged.
For lunch, Carrie-Bri had made up a pot of chili and a glass pan of cheesecake squares topped in chocolate. Rose had made cornbread. There was applause.
“So I saw George laughing at you when you came up for communion,” said Carrie to Rose. “What did you do up there, tear off another huge hunk of bread?”
“I don’t think so…” Rose pondered this for a few moments. “Maybe I was wearing funny shoes again.”
Then they discussed what ‘a la carte’ meant.
“Everyone knows what that means,” said Carrie. “Linnea, what does it mean?”
Linnea thought a moment, rolling her brown eyes to the ceiling in recalling… “’With cow brains’?”
Later, Rose commanded Francis to sit on a book in which she was flattening some wrinkled photos.
Shortly before 1:30, Collette sent out OLeif for a giant bag of apples and another of carrots, to juice for Puck.
“Ok,” said OLeif. “Wanna come?”
And without waiting for an answer, he pulled a signature OLeif and tossed her over his shoulder, headed for the door. No wonder Collette’s ribs felt occasionally bruised…
And for about an hour and a half, Mom, Collette, Carrie-Bri, and Linnea-Irish visited the shopping places to look for dress options for Grandma Snicketts to wear to the wedding in November, for Linnea to exchange a pair of skinny jeans at Old Navy, and to Yankee Candle, where Mom bought a set of wax wafers, including one for Collette which she particularly liked (as did OLeif, she discovered later): apple cider.
Back at the house, Curly had arrived to join Joe and Rose, with Magnus, at iHop. This inspired Francis to request another egg sandwich from Collette before departing for youth group.
And, altogether, it was another typical Sunday at the Snicketts household.
“After years of denial, [Joe Snicketts] is indeed a night owl. As much as I want to be as cool as Pa from Laura Ingalls Wilder… waking up at 5AM… chopping wood for the fam while talking peace treaties over with sweet Indians, It just isn’t a good scenario for someone who barely knows his own name that early.”
~ [Joe]