Ch. 170; Vol. 10
Last night while the electrician fumbled with a faulty meter in the darkening evening – which he said could possibly have caught on fire; toasty siding – Puck and I watched fireflies from the living room windows, and candles.
“How do they glow like that, Mom? A little glow coming out of its bottom…”
I tried to explain bioluminescence. A little. Puck plunked his battery-operated railroad lantern on the coffee table…
“This is for if our house gets blown away by a tornado.”
Good to know. He was asleep by nine. And our house was still standing.
Minecraft shirt, “Puck” cowboy hat [made by Kitts and Sun], buckskin vest, and cowboy boots. Puck was all themed.
“Mom!”
Puck was supposed to be singing cowboy songs with his fellow first graders.
“What’s up, bud? You need to stay with your group.”
“I know, Mom! But see that big guy [11 year-old assistant] in the gray shirt? He’s coming over to our house on Saturday morning at seven o’clock to play Minecraft, ok?!”
And ran off. Planning his social calendar behind my back. The new pastor’s son, by the way. Twice his age.
Then Linnea skipped town after the closing program for Steak ‘n Shake with some of the other kids.
It finally happened – the adamant insistence from my son that his baby brother be delivered. Immediately.
“Sorry, bud. It’ll be another two or three years.”
“But WHY?”
“Papers, a long list of people waiting…”
“But… I want him to come NOW.”
I mean, four years is already a literal lifetime for a six year-old. He was ready for the process to be over.
“And then Dad and I will go down to South America for five weeks and we will bring him home to you.”
“And I will stay with Grandma and Grandpa and Nana and Papa?”
“Yup. It will be safer if you do that.”
“It’s DANGEROUS?”
“Well… it can be… I’d rather have you stay at home where it’s going to be safe while we’re gone.”
“What will happen to YOU? Will YOU be SAFE?”
“I hope so.”
“Well don’t step in any ditch.”
Puck concluded that if he advised me on that one point, there would clearly be no cause for further concern.
Old cowboy music, grilled egg sandwiches, Carrie tired from another cardiologist appointment, Puck found a handful of heavy bronze pots and pans – in miniature: the Puck and Grandma Box. Then Six Flags. For Linnea and Gretyl. We tagged on the ride through high green hills and then a sack of fried meat pies for dinner.
Dad was waiting back at the house, also in emerald green, like Mom and Puck. The second part of Dad’s Father’s Day gift had arrived – world class yo-yo – while Carrie advised him to read the instruction manual…
“I made the instruction manual for yo-yos,” he grinned.
“He’s pretty good, folks, he’s pretty good,” Carrie heckled from the living room.
“Well, I can’t get the thing on my finger,” Dad protested.
Doink, doink, doink.
The metal yo-yo split in half and rolled across the kitchen floor.
“DAD!!”
In fairness, he did restring it and successfully zipped it around the right way again.
Mom had yoga. Joe was taking Jaya to Chinese. Puck and I played his new invention game – stirring balloons through the house with sweeping brooms.
When The Bear picked us up, he was walking with a cane – blew out his knee again.
Puck’s prayers that night went something like this…
“Please help Dad not to make his feet stomp big and scare Crackers. I know he’s just walking, but please help him not to scare her. Please help him to tiptoe and not forget.”
Then The Bear began…
“Dear Heavenly…”
“And take care of my baby brother in Colombia.”
“Dear Heavenly…”
“And forgive my sins.”
Then, he was done.
