Ch. 193; Vol. 10
“Bomba la bomba.”
. . .
“Bomba la bomba.”
. . .
[Puck picks up things and repeats them sometimes…]
“Bomba la bomba.”
Reading about a Mexican volcano for morning studies also encouraged this sound effect.
While I prepared the alternate shewerma idea for lunch once more – essentially seasoned chicken, fries, and Ranch dressing on naan – Puck snagged a frozen fry off the pan…
“Tastes super!”
Baby carrots, large paper clip: the only two ingredients required for Puck to build a carrot gun during the meal…
“CARROT BULLETS!!!”
I feel like I should – and shouldn’t – stifle that.
Within reason…
He pulled out the chopsticks to finish off the fries, inspired by Tina’s dinner party in Ghostwriter.
Then enjoyed a green apple – presumably – rock candy from The Bear.
“Where did that come from?” I asked The Bear as he joined us for lunch.
“They were just lying around at work.”
“Why is there always stuff just ‘lying around at work’?”
“They have a snack table.”
Mildly concerning.
I envisioned rock candy seventeen years old, people walking past it because what adult eats rock candy anyway?
Except for Rose of course.
“Mom? Can I bring Crackers to Nana’s?”
I paused emptying the dishwasher. Puck was holding his surprisingly docile cat wrapped in the knitted blanket from Aunt Agnes…
“I don’t think she’d get on too well with Snickers…”
“Mom. Let me tell you something. Snicker’s isn’t allowed inside. She shreds too much.”
Then we rolled a big ball of yarn and string, because Puck was inspired.
Theodore’s Office: Puck Drop-Off with unraveling green Upward Basketball overnight backpack, swiping butterscotch hard candies off the welcome table.
Main Street Church: Wedding Rehearsal. [I brought a book. But I could only get through one chapter before they were done. That’s the way to do things.]
Frankie Tocco’s Pizzeria: a new place for me where I willingly ate tomato slices on pizza. This is the sign of a good pizza. And all the toasted “ravs”, as Magnus dubbed them. Maybe that’s just a “thing”; I don’t know; feeling my coolness factor slide by the day.
But St. Louis: beer, gooey butter cake, and toasted ravioli “ravs”.
And frosted cherry cake.
Not a St. Louis thing.
Magnus passed around gift bags for all the groomsmen: mini Jack Daniels, Coke, applicable glasses, striped ties for the ceremony, and handwritten notes. I think The Bear was pretty happy.
Looking back to my first memory of Magnus after choir one autumn afternoon eleven, twelve years ago, it’s sort of like seeing a little brother take the vows. Funny how things change but never change. That’s one of the good things about staying on where you grew up, and where others decided to stay, too. It’s a whole new tangled world here in this big-city-small-city everyone knows you somehow through a chain of five or six people. Sort of like an Order. An Order that is becoming more rare in this world. But – I believe – more necessary.
:step off soapbox:
:pick up soapbox:
:walk into the sunset:
:sort of:
