Change Scene

Friday, May 4, 2012

As the three Silverspoons packed out the door for the possible-storm morning, Puck discovered a green measuring tape in OLeif’s toolbox, which he was absolutely convinced had, at one time, been yellow…
“I have no other idea than someone coming into our house and painting it.”
After some continued episodes of disbelief…
“Let’s call the police!” he declared.

On the way over to the other Silverspoon’s…
“What do you want to listen to this morning, buddy?” OLeif asked. “Bluegrass? Jazz?”
“Jazz?”
“Ok.”
“What does Jazz taste like?”

Gloria was packing. She and Theodore would be meeting Kitts in Nashville to attend Curly’s graduation; his brothers would remain in St. Louis for various educational obligations.
After Puck had been gifted a belated set of Argentine-blue shirt and plaid shorts, he and Collette took out to the porch to watch the western blue clouds inch forward, splitting off into mother ships. Thunder rumbled as Puck attempted verbal communication with the symphony of bird cacophony, and meandered down to the mailbox while Collette kept an eye on the radar.
“What are you doing, Puck?”
“I’m going to try to get inside the mailbox like Calvin.”

Puck landed himself back in “the corner” shortly after Theodore and Gloria had departed in the rain…
“I bet it was hard to make humans,” Puck said thoughtfully. Wasn’t it?”
“Not for God.”
“How did glass get made?”
“Puck. No more questions.”
“Oh, I know how glass got made. It got made out of sand. It got made out of rocks. Isn’t that cool?… Huh… Sand is little rocks… that fell apart. And the things is… it got turned into salt. It looked yellow. So… that’s how rocks got made. No, that’s how sand got made.”
His lunch plate of buttery croissant, muenster cheese, pineapple, roma tomato, and walnuts over the funnies made him forget any former despondency of “sitting out”.
Ten minutes after twelve, the “pork man” arrived, hauling four boxes of freshly slaughtered pig to store in the basement freezer.
“Wow. That sure was a big pig,” Puck noted. “I’m going to have to ask him what kind of a pig that was… Was that a big pig?”
“Sure was,” the man replied. “Three hundred pounds.”
“Was it your pig?”
“Yup,” he grinned. “It’s yours now.”

While Puck vacationed on “Andy Griffith”, Collette chugged into another slew of writings – the endless – a Seagram’s blackberry raspberry sparkling seltzer water, and another John Piper sermon.

The afternoon was like sitting in a terrarium – fogged in with warm silence and ruffled distant treetops, Puck sprawled on the deck with the cat and a collection of toy cars, after running the yard.

While Collette washed up the dinner dishes, Puck finished his meal at the table, mumbling something…
“I was thinking to God…” he said, “’Make me balance this’.”
He held his fork over the funnies.
“Well, sure, God could make you balance the fork,” Collette replied, “but what would be the point?”
Puck hadn’t thought about that.

Magnus’ big exhibit was showing down on Cherokee that night; half the family made it, including Dad. Unfortunately, due to the nature of the venue, Collette remained at home with the Kindergartner, who was perhaps not the best sort of visitor for the anticipated environment.
Puck tucked in for the night in a cool bed, Snickers curled up beside him.
OLeif clopped in at 10:00, though the exhibition carried over into one o’clock in the morning, apparently.

And over in sunny California, Albert was being booed by his loyal fans…

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Jamie Larson
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