Ch. 244; Vol. 10
Another gold and white field – sun and mist – eight AM. Puck, raiding the recycling basket for orange bulletin inserts, walking through the doors with Mini Elvis’ half-used Johnson’s baby shampoo, the strand of lighting chain, May the Force be with You bracelet, and a coupon booklet for Valvoline. – Questions are irrelevant. – Drawing maps to secret hideouts with church buddies. Before nine AM.
Puck was standing in the bathroom – process of remodeling – staring at the toilet in the tub. “This is going to be awkward.”
Carrie paused from cleaning the bunny’s cages and power drilling – and whatever – to open the fridge. “There is literally nothing to eat here.”
For Carrie, this means the pantry is actually reduced to nails, sawdust, and a lonely can of heart of palm. I brought up half a jumbo box of Eggos.
“Collette?”…Francis’ stupid smile… “Did I ever tell you how good you are at making Eggos?”
Blip, blip. “Gotta text from your boyfriend, Francis?” Rose harassed him.
“No… I don’t have a boyfriend. Kicking it single. It’s better than if you’re kicking it with someone else.”
“Well, you can do more damage if you’re kicking it together,” Rose grinned.
Francis coaxed a truck-drive out of Bær after reciting comments from his classmates…
“I was voted: The Most Likely to Know How to Plant Potatoes.”
Then Rose kicked Francis in the bum for no reason.
It was so cold inside, I sat on the porch. Rose joined me with her griffin-claw glass-ball antique stool and an electric sander. Linnea walked up, back from church – cute in white skin, turquoise, and pink lipstick. She sat with Izzy and a couple of others at the potluck…
“We all talked about how Rose is just like Liz Lemon.”
“I am not!”
“She’s one of the most famous people in the world.”
“So was Hitler!”
“Rose, she was voted one of the top 50 beautiful women in the United States.”
“Yeah! Top fifty!”
Hopeless.
“Puck,” Carrie joined the crowd. “I think we should start a new Sunday tradition. Sunday afternoon snuggle time.”
Puck just stared at her, walking to the couch with a Ziploc of red drinking straws. And built a tin foil man in the kitchen: “Mr. Smiley”. Watched the new Norwegian [maybe] neighbors install House of Denmark furniture across the street. Joe talked about a Volvo.
“Philly’s Pizza?” Joe suggested over the phone for early birthday. He and Jaya returning from who-knew-where after Jaya’s whirlwind to Chicago and back. Disapprove. Can’t be helped. At least it wasn’t her idea.
A drive through green hills, warm sun, waiting for cornmeal-rolled breadsticks and big pizzas in Marthasville. Anything with a “ville” – immediate ten notches down on Collette Cities & Towns Scale. I find myself so important. Joe talked up the beauty of the local sticks and rocks. And stories of Joe at dinner.
“You know what Dad said the other day?” Carrie was already laughing. “We saw this big wooly worm crossing the road and Dad said, ‘Oh, look! There’s one of Joe’s eyebrows crawling across the road!’”
That was a good one. Even Dad had tickled himself. And the boys laughed about cruelty-free vegetables at the grocery store, slapping “range free” stickers on the watermelons when no one was looking.
Water splat the windshield…
“Is it raining?” Joe crowed. “Gnarly, man.”
The driveway packed with cars, Francis had returned with the black truck from in-service. [Linnea at a slumber party.]
“Oop, put the E-brake on the van when you park it, Dad,” Carrie advised. “Shelly might be a little jealous.”
Joe nodded. “Yeah, I think I saw tear drops in the headlights earlier.”
Forty-five minutes circled in the living room, a gift from us to Joe: turn-anything-into-a-loud-speaker hand-held gadgets. Everything from Joe’s tear-tickling shreds to Chrysler engine tornado sirens.
Carrie had sniffed out a foul odor. “Oh, Puck. Oh… oh, my…”
Sprays of Daffodil Fields – Carrie’s most rare eBay find – on bare toes, foot bath in hibiscus salts. Pampered Puck.
Adoption Status: Down: 4 years; To Go: 2 years, 3 months.
