Ch. 241; Vol. 10
Puck – elbows deep in nails, screws, thumbtacks, and nine years of other unidentifiable pieces of unfiltered junk in the Junk Drawer – already finished his whipped strawberry breakfast yogurt.
“Why is my hand mirror out, Puck?”
“Because I was showing Crackers her face in the mirror. She’s never seen her face in the mirror before.”
Arranged budgets with Joe, auto purchasing and loans, etc.
Two jugs of Mrs. Meyer’s Clean Day Basil Scented Laundry Detergent from Walgreen’s via UPS.
Oh, the spoils of life.
Talked Puck through the Hittite civilization; discussed how all the ancient gods were carved, sculpted, painted. Except for the One True God.
Visited maps; Puck always picks out the pinprick islands in the South Indian Ocean to ask about.
Three Errands.
Schnuck’s: more blue corn chips.
Old Navy: twelve shiny oily bouncy balls in various colors of Argentine blue, Spanish yellow, Tropical Fish blue-white-yellow-green, and even the long-expected sea green matte. We discussed Puck’s weekly influx of four quarters on the walk back to the car…
“You need to tithe though.”
Puck’s Target bag of bouncy balls swung over the brick sidewalk.
“I have to give the church – BOUNCY BALLS?!”
Library: the usual.We were checked out by one of the many familiar faces behind the desk. As we left, Puck informed me of an opinion…
“I think that lady must have a cat at home… I just coughed.”
I mixed guacamole while Puck admired his Thursday loot. Sliced a peach for the chump; the pit had crumbled exposing an almond-like seed in its center which apparently helps fight cancers. So… that was pretty exciting…
Puck becomes all PBS on me during Minecraft. We sat together on the couch during an Off Week Quiet Hour, the iPad attached to my laptop.
“Don’t you like this flat land, Mom? These patterns are just… just… well, you know what I mean, it’s much better this way.”
Bob Ross.
Father Dominic.
Ordered some triphala per Carrie’s recommendation. I anticipated drinking green hay. Health is a hobby.
Readings with Puck: Gooney Bird Greene, Childhood Poems [lightly discussed the gingham and calico paradox of Eugene Field’s “The Duel”], The Last Battle.
Searched for any relatives died in the Civil War for Rose’s sake. Couldn’t find any. I guess Rose should be a little more happy about that.
Buttered popcorn and “Third Man on the Mountain”, another unknown Disney.
Read about tomatoes and space robots before Puck’s 7:30 bedtime. Puck had thoughts…
“Sometimes the lights of the city just black everything out. I haven’t seen a star in weeks. Except for the sun because it always shines in the day.”
It had been a few minutes of endless questions – Puck from his red pillow in his orange room – questions and questions and questions about his “baby brudder in Colombia”…
“I CAN’T SLEEP!”
“Why not?”
“I’m just thinking about all those orphanages! Why can’t we have two or three babies, Mom?”
The difficult conversations of life.
“What color hair will he have?… Maybe he’ll have red hair.”
“I… doubt that…”
Another evening with myself: Peach Izze, Anne of the Sandwich Islands, hoping Pittsburg lost to Milwaukee – again, and 16th Century Korea.
Can’t complain.
