Drip, Drop
Puck watched a threatening breakfast sky through the window whose shade Crackers had not attacked… Principally because there wasn’t one there anyway.
“Look at those clouds moving fast out there, Mom. That means there are going to be storms. They’re searching for rain to pick up.”
Then he chewed down his toast into the shape of check-marks, and proudly displayed the effort to me.
Some Sundays seem more “together” than others. This was not one of those days. But I wasn’t bothered. We had some fantastic skies working up. Fast-movers; gray-white. And some pretty high winds popping the metal roof during the sermon. Which was good, by the way – The Bear’s bow-tie wearing, tea drinking, love for locomotives Greek professor.
On the other hand, Puck was crazy. Fifteen minutes before Sunday School was over, I could hear him yelling from down the hall around the corner. Not bad yelling. Not trying-to-be-rude yelling. Just… yelling… yelling. My son, my son.
We reconvened in the usual manner before the first shower broke. I like to see lava-orange trees and bright pink roses boiling around in the wind together. A cross of two seasons.
Carrie’s lunch preparations included open-faced sandwiches – thick cuts of homemade raisin-walnut bread, spread in goat cheese and homemade apple butter, topped with strips of bacon. A pot of hot homemade – ok, everything’s homemade – roasted cauliflower with aged cheddar soup. And butterscotch fudge. Francis, of course, would only eat the bacon.
“Francis! Put that back!” Carrie snapped.
Francis reluctantly replaced the snip of bacon he had swiped from a second sandwich on the pan.
With all the intricacies of running back and forth for ten people even on a Sunday afternoon, I ended up back over at the Silverspoon’s where Carrie continued her artistic counseling. The canvas was impressive. Theodore even commented…
“The heavens declare the glory of God.”
I’d say that’s pretty good, coming from Theodore. It does resemble the cosmos, I have to say, or as Joe put it…
“Oh, it’s a picture of heaven.”
Sometimes an hour of absolutely nothing to do is more healthy, I guess. Veggie Tales on a dark, rainy afternoon is still ok. Mostly because Gloria and Carrie went shopping for lamps and multi-colored glass sconces to test, while Theodore napped.
And in that topsy turvy rainy evening, we returned for grilled hot dogs and chips, and more “Star Trek”, while I searched plans for The Bear’s trip to L.A. in March. Volleyball parties, chilling with Magnus, Bible study after laundry, late night James Bond at the theater for Dad and the boys, tired coffee reunion appointments… And there was always time for one more Nerf war between Francis and Puck, despite the lateness of the hour. After the yelling and ricocheting had retired, we made our exit.
Back home. The Bear spent his last few minutes of weekend freedom, “freedom” giggling over animated puffy balloon safari animals.