Catfish

Francis walked over after church to fill me in on his Saturday evening.

“So we were walking by the river and I just hear this guy calling, ‘Help! Help!’ So I go over there to see what was going on, and he’s got this fish he’s hooked in the water. And he needed help pulling him in. So I helped him and it turned out to be this 50-pound catfish.”

Bratwursts, sandwiches, lemonade at the church luncheon. Brownies, cookies for dessert. Yali sat next to me, squished into the same chair, stuffing his face – and his Sunday shirt – with spaghetti and meatballs.

Sunday afternoon was a little less exciting than hauling a giant catfish out of the Missouri River, but that’s what Sunday afternoons are for.

It was still warm enough to sit on the porch for awhile. Oxbear whittled two play knives for the boys out of an old board he found on the side of the house. Francis chased them around the yard for awhile until Puck stepped through a rotting jack-o-lantern in his new Adidas. And Mom and Rose ended up napping, windows open to another Indian Summer afternoon.