End of an Era

The backyard looked more like soggy fruitcake than mud and grub that morning when I drew Puck’s red shades. That last week right before spring.

Meanwhile, as Oxbear was dragging monster truck tires across the parking lot of an old Vietnamese Catholic church with three other macho men, I packed, cleaned, and hung out with Puck before my departure to the south with the girls.

When the big man returned late that morning, he treated us to Orange Leaf in Chesterfield. A family outing before we spent nine days apart. Myself in Florida, my boys in a big guys’ week of a parks, hikes, bow-and-arrow-shooting, arrowhead-hunting, Minecraft, Science Center, Zoo, Gus’ Pretzels kind of week.

At the Big House, Grandma was sitting on the couch while Francis half-dozed on the floor. When we walked in, Francis knew his slumbers would be limited.

“There goes my nap,” he grinned. I guess he had some time to think about it a little more, because half an hour later, he walked into the dining room and announced. “I can’t even take naps anymore. I sleep too much.”

Oxbear offered sage advice, “If you believe in yourself, you can do it.”

So, one last madrigal dinner. Eight dinners later, six rounds of kids. And Miss Linnea-Irish was the last one to see it happen. A pile of curls and feathers on the top of her head, scraping dishes, and student-directing the marketplace. Not even one madrigal or dance though. Not a one. Rose and I visited the scraping station between courses as she sloughed piles of butter-glazed chicken and potatoes into heavy-duty trash receptacles. Rose took slo-mo video of the scraping in action. Although there weren’t that many leftovers, to be honest.

“Paid thirty bucks to watch you scrape plates,” we teased.

And that’s how the Snicketts’ madrigal era ended – fourteen years start to finish – on a final note of vampires, polygamy, and the usual expected theatrical absurdities.