Chapter Forty-Nine
“Dad! Dad! I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry! But I’m afraid… I’m afraid I broke your jump rope.”
A disturbed young man still in his pajamas walked over to The Bear’s side of the bed. We knew he had been up for a little while when he thought the alarm went off at 6:30. So there was some knocking around in the basement while he fed Crackers and apparently dug up the old aerobic jump rope with lead plugs inserted into the handles. Probably not lead, but might as well be by the weight. All was forgiven, but Puck had a hard time letting the thing go for awhile…
“I will buy you another one with my bank account, Dad. I will, I really will.”
The Bear was running a little late, but not late enough to not snap on the electric hair trimmer in the bathroom. I could hear the methodic buzz as I walked through the hallway…
“What? Oh… You weren’t kidding. You really were trimming down your beard.”
It wasn’t gone by any stretch, but I’d say a good two inches down, maybe three, which doesn’t sound as life-changing until your son finds it necessary to inform him that…
“Dad. You look… really young. Like you were reborn and are now in college. Like… like younger than mama when… when… she wanted to get married.”
“So you’re saying Dad looks younger than me, eh?”
“Yes.”
I tossed open a window. It was a little cold I guess, but nothing like February is supposed to be. Which basically just meant St. Louis weather. The wind was pretty high too. I know I mention that a lot, but what’s a Snicketts supposed to do? It’s like Rose said Sunday night scanning the photos on Mom’s phone, all of which I’m pretty sure Linnea took…
“You can tell this is a Snicketts phone. Almost all the pictures on here are of clouds.”
Then I noticed the chewed spinach leaves on the rug. I may be trying my best to serve healthy, disgusting, food to my boys on a regular basis, but I was pretty certain I did not have spinach on the menu that week. Then I realized. Crackers. She apparently thought it was a grand old time to attack the new fresh greenery Gloria had sent home with us Saturday night. Fortunately it still seemed overall in good health, and not so near its death bed as I would have expected. I gathered the leaves for the trash before Crackers could find any more inspiration for her bad cat ways. These bad cat ways continued into the later part of the morning when she bolted out to the patio for her first-ever flavor of freedom. We had just returned from a half-neighborhood walk, admiring the wind, accordion-compressed bundles of dry brown leaves on the street, and the carpeting of purple crocus in the front yard. We transferred ourselves to the backyard for similar enterprises when Crackers made her move. Puck captured her before she knew what happened…
“She almost got her life free!” he declared.
Puck, who had not yet forgotten the jump rope…
“I’m really sorry that I broke Dad’s… shall we say… jump rope?”
He wasn’t too upset not to enjoy some Andy Griffith with me though. I wish I was as good a mom as Andy Griffith was a dad. Also, I realized looking through some of Dad’s old sports memorabilia from grade school that he was basically Opie Taylor as a kid, by sight and deed. I served up plates of pork, cheese, and apples for lunch. Sort of reminded me of something out of the Laura Ingalls Wilder cookbook, which I read but never used. Except I think it was apple pie, not just apples. I’m pretty sure everything Laura Ingalls Wilder did in her life was about twice as difficult and laudable as my own. Especially in food. Nothing like a TV father and pioneer girl to make you feel so much better about your life… Rain fell after three, so softly we didn’t even notice at first. It pulled in darker skies by dinner and a brief gullywasher by pale low-light in the west, after Puck had showered. He pinched his freshly washed stomach, saying…
“Mom! Look how much the hairs have been growing on my tummy!”
And doesn’t he. The chap looks for signs of growth anywhere he turns. Although – at least for now – he continues to insist that…
“I’ll never leave St. Louis, Mom. I’ll be in another house is all. And I will see you a lot.”
The wind was high as Puck fell asleep, both arms wrapped around good old Donkey, right before The Bear drove back with his newly carved facial hair ready for two fat fish sandwiches with a side of peas. I do my best. We tried “Downtown Abbey”, again, while he dined. We’re really trying here…
