Ch. 205; Vol. 10

Before breakfast had been completely cleared away, I had to stop Puck in the act of cutting holes in his socks.

“Puck, not that one.”

“But, Mom, this is a creepy sock.”

I helped him locate a more… applicable sock.

Puck made a hard dash for the pine grove – to select an opportune climbing tree. Mom and Francis, just back from dropping off Dad’s car – also for new tires [he and Mom had a blow-out on the Daniel Boone coming back from a date Tuesday night; what is it with that bridge?] They walked across the street to us, discussing Francis’ ambitions to move up the ranks at the Rec-Plex…

“Oh, remember how you kids used to pull all the red berries off this bush?” Mom asked, fingering the berry-less greenery surrounding the pine grove.

“I guess they aren’t poisonous,” I said. “We picked enough of them.”

“Well, we told you never to eat them. Because the birds never ate them. And whatever the birds didn’t eat, we wouldn’t let you eat.”

A principle to live by.

Frances was brunch-mongering…

“We’re out of milk! I DEMAND compensation!”

Mom ignored his pleas and slipped me a thin Hershey’s instead.

Trees… Frosted Wheaties, plain… “Catapult Sticks”…

“MOM! COME WATCH ME CLIMB!”

Gadget drawer… Kitchen sink…

“MOM! COME PLAY THE SINK-FLOAT GAME WITH ME!”

…tin foil boats.

That evening while we waited for The Bear to fuel up the car – and us with juice – Puck elaborated on plans to dig up our back yard and sort artifacts through a “scream” [screen].

“But first, we have to mush the dirt into tiny pieces.”

When we got home, Puck and I drew pictures with colored pencils on Great-Grandma’s old faded blue-green school paper. I sketched the Messy Shape Turner [old times] and Puck – Strawberry Juice Factory. Watching Wimp clips with The Bear.

Unwind…