Blow Wind Blow
“Well don’t blame me if I get shot by a thunderbolt!” This was Puck’s response to my suggestion that we visit the park Thursday morning as we waved El Oso off to work. The Snicketts Family tradition continues.
It never stormed. Puck and I walked the neighborhood instead, felled tree branches sticking out of his poncho pockets, Buck and Donkey harnessed in the old baby stroller, wrapped in a never-used cranberry cloth napkin for comfort. “I hope Buck and Donkey become real when we get to Heaven.” I try to be careful with these ideas. “Well, I guess we don’t know what God will decide to do. But you never know: your Donkey and Buck could be representations of a real Donkey and Buck somewhere in the world. And maybe if animals go to Heaven, you’ll meet them some day.” Puck liked that idea. With God, all things are possible.
Earlier, on the couch while reading about the New Orleans yellow fever epidemic of 1853, we discussed the possibility of guardian angels. Puck’s eyes rolled around the room. He cupped a hand around his mouth. “Don’t say anything too personal then, Mom. You might be embarrassed.”
Puck met me halfway through Quiet Hour in my room with tiny pieces of green “gak” (that highly glue-based putty he and Carrie had made weeks ago) puddled through his hair. “I left it on top of my head too long. I shouldn’t have done that!” A successful shampoo was applied.
The wind went up after lunch – wild skeleton tree whipping wind – sun shining on dead leaves before the storm. We enjoyed that awesome wind for fifteen minutes in the front yard. A drench of rain followed. “HOLY MACKEREL!” Puck yelled from the front porch. “THIS IS BAD! MOM! CHECK THE WINDOWS!” Dry.
It was a ridiculous 71 degrees by the time we got back from Schnuck’s an hour later with $1 boxes of blackberries. Puck set his Mickey Mouse chair on the porch, slipped on his sunnies, and got some rays. The wind went insane about ten minute later, roaring in from the west under patchwork clouds and gray sun. Puck ran around in it, imagining himself a character in a video game, robot-like, package of peanut butter orange cheese crackers. He gets giddy about wind like the rest of his clan. Freight trains. I almost called him inside from the open window, just in case.
By dinner, the wind was a cold willows wind. Puck walked back from greeting his friends at the bus stop with a large chunk of asphalt-cement. “Look what Anna let me have! A chunk of cement with a rock-covering to protect it. Very permanent. Cannot break. Not even with a saw cutting it. The strongest saw in the world.” And we watched one of Francis’ young boy favorites: Follow Me, Boys.
Puck got tucked in for the night. I had switched his pillow to the end of the bed to change things up. He wouldn’t have anything of it, mentioning something about it being his “national habit”.