Ch. 134; Vol. 10
We split a package of chocolate cupcakes at seminary that morning. Hostess-style, but not really because I guess they went out of business. It took us awhile to decide that. We walked through each row of pastry/chip/chocolate based snacks until we decided that the cupcakes were the best option.
The Bear walked out of his final at 10:30. Maybe not entirely relieved yet. But I’m sure it helped at least a little.
After we dropped him off, Puck and I went out on our usual tumble through Forest Park towards Rose’s apartment. Puck listened to his most recent “Magic Tree House” adventure, which featured the Lakota nation and animal spirits, The Great Spirit, etc…
“That is NOT TRUE!” Puck declared with authority from his booster seat.
“Well, you’re right…”
“But they just didn’t understand that it wasn’t true, because they didn’t have a Bible. God will not send them to hell because they didn’t understand.”
“Well, that’s a very old and mysterious question…”
Leave it to my son to already be asking about the innocent native “dilemma”. I began to explain dreams and visions in desolate lands and other forms of communication and/or paradox.
So it was getting hot again. You could tell. People were swamping the attractions of the park, leaving parking spots scarce even near Rose’s place. We found one left on the street, though, and stomped up past once-violets for lunch and UNO. I mean, it was supposed to be 90 degrees. In May. Which is completely reasonable for St. Louis. But I didn’t feel like walking the Zoo or whatever on a day that warm.
It happens every May. Every May for the last 17 years. The unbearably dorky-sounding St. Charles County Home Educators Concert Choir performance. I guess life without twice-a-year choir concerts would be almost a little strange, really. After all this time. And come to think of it, I think Puck will be old enough to join by the time Linnea graduates in a couple of years. The second generation begins. But anyway. We attended.
6:30.
O’Fallon.
They would call up the graduating class at the end like they always do and display their future hopes and dreams to the audience. This time, it was Francis’ turn. Between both our families, the ninth to wrap up his education there. Pretty crazy, really.
As we walked into the church, Puck got a shoulder grip and a hand shake from Mr. Friendly. After all these years, still familiar faces.
“Dad?” Puck whispered before we entered the sanctuary, a little late, “could you go get us some popcorn?”
My son is not yet concert-trained.
The Bear and I commented on the younger siblings of our old choir mates during the performance. Because they all look the same, really. The “latest version”, if you will…
“They really are like brands of families up there,” The Bear whispered. “The newest model.”
So I had gotten a text from Carrie as we walked towards the church. Apparently Francis wanted all his alumni siblings to come up on stage with him. Because all the alumni walk up there and sing the same hymn – The Lord Bless You and Keep You – acapella with the current choir. Every year. Lately, we girls had stopped that. Bluebell wasn’t directing anymore. But this year she had accompanied on piano. And old sentimental Brother Number 2 wanted us up there. Joe was already buddy-buddy up there with Francis, immediately. As was The Bear. So we joined them. And made funny eyes at Linnea, standing in her row. And, yes, I was definitely the oldest female on the risers. Naturally, the first thing Francis asked us, loping off the stage was…
“Did I look like a stud?”
Rose just jabbed him in the ribs.
“So we made the sacrifice, Francis.”
“Huh?”
“We sang for you.”
“Oh, wait. You were up there?”
Thanks a lot, pal.
And so while Joe and Francis and Linnea were off cavorting with their own crews, we hit up Waffle House for a late snack. Puck joined the sister table to discuss the issues of life, diving syrup-deep into a waffle also lathed with butter.