Chapter Forty
The last memory of the night left me wondering what my brain did in those hours of unconsciousness. I could see it – the idea of it – something I was supposed to stitch up in needlepoint and hang on the wall – rose and aqua colors – or something like that. It was meant to read…
“It’s going to get worse, before it gets better.”
Comforting. [Not a huge fan of needlepoint either.]
I imported a bowl of pumpkin mixed with honey, cinnamon, and stevia [left over from the snack bag of it Gloria had given us who knows how long ago] for Puck’s breakfast. Puck peeled a zebra band-aid after Crackers battled off the previous bandage from the night before. Puck eyed the chamomile tea, also stirred with stevia, sitting beside the pumpkin bowl…
“Aw, Mom. This tea is disgusting. I wish you didn’t put sugar in it, Mom…”
[It wasn’t sugar.]
“Puck.”
“Sorry, Dad. But I wish it was just original!”
Greek, Greek, Greek, Greek… Why do I get this image in my head of Lucy and company in Germany singing…
“We like to drink, drink, drink, drink, drink, drink, drink, drink. Drink! Drink! Drink!”
…except she’s saying “Greek” instead… Puck got busy bouncing on the mini trampoline while I fixed lunch…
“Could we eat downstairs, Mom? Since it’s such a lovely day?”
He ended up carving patterns into an avocado seed with a dull knife – red avocado tattoos – that could be a band title. I caught up a little more on Charlton Heston in 1970. Hawai’i during Quiet Hour. I guess the Saturday version of Quiet Hour is a more rare event, so I take what I can get by way of something different. When I informed Puck that the hour had ended, he was sprawled over a pile of quilts and blankets in his room with a copy of Calvin & Hobbes.
I piled Puck into the car with a load of library books, encouraging him to attempt his own buckling in again…
“I need you to be doing buttons, zippers, shoelaces, and seat belts all on your own,” I told him.
“I can do buttons, but…” Puck replied. “…I don’t know how to serve tea.”
“What. Why?…”
“Because I’m a boss.”
Library, church, UPS store, Silverspoon’s – where Gloria and Carrie had just returned with plants and thick bubbled white vases. Rose had taken Linnea and Gretyl shopping; brave girl. Francis had some final Eagle approval board or something where he had about eight thick stacks of paperwork to prove himself. Joe pushed truffles until 4:30 and off with friends to the City Museum. Puck sniffed a little after a short time swinging in the cold. Gloria started working on the salsa until she found out it was way hot…
“I think I’ll go get you a pizza. Cough, cough.”
Puck opted to stay by the fire on the rocking chair with “Fantastic Mr. Fox”. Gloria whipped up guacamole when she got back, with The Bear. Even Theodore watched some of the stop-animation film – cider, tree houses, mustard yellows, burnt reds… Gloria walked down to the bunker kitchen for the hot wings…
“Whoa! I opened the door down there and I think the heat just melted my mascara.”
The Bear penciled into the early night. Right hand on Logos software. Left hand scratch on dead wood. I guess I’m proud of the fact that my husband, dad, and one of my brothers is left-handed. For some reason I kind of grew up thinking that left-handers were a little more superior, a little bit greater. Sort of absurd, I guess. But that’s the way it is.
