Back on the Ranch
Wednesday, 2.23.2011
In which the day spilleth over with sugar and projects…
The day began with OLeif showing Collette the colour clock on his computer.
And Puck was his usual self; in soccer shirt, skinny jeans, chucks, Ireland jacket, and Cardinal skull cap, he was ready to head out into the day.
70 and 40 were backed up that morning, due to traffic and a 31 car pile-up from the icy roads, respectively. So it was to the side roads.
As they passed church, Collette told OLeif about Francis’ Eagle project, which would hopefully be building benches to set out by the front doors of the church.
“He should just build Phase II of the church campus for his project,” said OLeif.
“I wonder what the biggest Scout project ever made was…” said Collette.
“Sputnik,” OLeif replied.
“The Russian Boy Scouts?”
“Yup. They have a really good program over there. Our attempt was Apollo 13.”
Over at the house…
Mom and Collette worked on calls to Bath, England, to reserve a Bed & Breakfast for the upcoming travels.
Carrie-Bri was somewhat bemoaning the fact that she had not taken up one of her former European marriage proposals, due to the current wintry weather of St. Louis, and the highly preferred year-round temperatures of the Mediterranean.
Joe was off to class.
Rose had been given a pair of beautiful leather English riding boots.
She and Collette then made plans to attend an archaeology lecture at the History Museum in March.
Francis was writing a paper.
Linnea-Irish mixed up eggs with bacon and cheese for herself and Carrie, who was just up and starting the day with R.C. Sproul’s podcast.
Puck chugged orange juice, happily played with Francis’ old cell phone, listening to all the mod-Asian ringtones, and, at Francis’ encouragement, started telling everyone with a huge grin…
“You’re doomed!”
And there was a plate of French spiced crockenbouche cookies on the counter, layered in a sort of cinnamon sauce, from the bakery of Carrie-Bri Snicketts.
In the afternoon…
With the sun out for stark comparison, the skies in the west were almost violet.
“Storms tomorrow,” said Dan. “Possibly severe ones.”
Meanwhile, Carrie had earlier strung a delicate necklace of tiny sparkling Swarovski crystals from China, 140 of which she had purchased for two dollars.
Puck went down in his Sun’s room on pretense of asking for a nap.
Rose was busy in her eclectic hovel of a room, which was Rose-ish in every regard. Clover green paint, brightly colored twinkly lights wrapping shelves of endless books, many of them antique: literature, archaeology, and ancient cultures, and then there were plants and cactus, black and white prints of Charlie Chaplin, Jules Verne, and the 1904 World’s Fair, the Indian blanket, the owl clock, Moroccan and Colonial lamps, Tanzanian print on the closet, handmade pottery, candles, etc.
Francis fell asleep on the couch until the mail arrived and he rushed out to see if his new credit card had arrived. It had not. However, there was a package bearing two pocket squares in beige and pale pink for Dad’s new distinguished look, which he did not very much appreciate. Neither did Francis.
“Those look ridiculous,” he said.
Tea time.
Puck eagerly helped Carrie to serve.
Carrie noted how peanut butter cookies had the texture of moon sand. As did shortbread, as Rose pointed out.
Joe returned from class to join in the tea party.
The ‘great gathering’ took place behind a slew of laptops on the dining room table, as five out of six partook in fragmented discussions around papers, classwork, and other items of import. Such topics ranged from the varying rates of longevity at their respective churches, a friend of Rose’s who had dated a member of the royal Saudi family, the importance of eye contact in the business world, and how when Francis called Rose’s phone, a picture would emerge of himself soaking his feet in tubs while Dance of the Snowflakes serenaded the recipient.
And then Joe took his turn at a snooze on the couch between classes.
Out to church for the usual evening of partial mayhem. The theme being Noah’s Ark, Jell-O rainbow cups topped with whipped cream clouds, large melted rainbow disc crayons, and animal bracelets were in order.
And at the end of the evening, Puck was awarded a bag of assorted candy for his good behavior the previous Wednesday. His eyes sparkled.
“I’m the candy lady,” said Daisy-Jean, unapologetically. “I’m a grandma. I can get away with it.”
Then Francis entertained Puck for awhile with his green laser in the dark atrium until Linnea-Irish’s group skit had finished rehearsing for that Sunday’s talent show.
Puck crashed into bed that night, happy, and filled with the promise of sampling goodies in the morning.