February 18
Chapter 2,085
In which Francis discovers that he is going to be late and is little concerned about it…
The morning began with uncertain skies. Mostly gray and indecisive. Although the south seemed somewhat dark. And the sun pushed about here and there, hoping for a debut.
At breakfast, Puck excused himself from the table with a revised script for attending to personal matters…
“Mama… I need to use dah bah-silly-tees (facilities).”
Mom and the kids arrived nearing ten.
Fresh air from open windows.
Mom and Puck ran errands.
“Francis, you do not eat twenty burgers at every meal.”
Francis and Linnea were having another discussion.
“About the same. I eat five pounds of food at every meal.”
And Francis taught Puck how to act properly as a butler/doorman. Puck copied him as precisely as possible, with lifted nose, nearly shut eyes, and hands clasped appropriately in front of him.
Then Francis discovered too late that he had a full madrigal dinner rehearsal at one o’clock, and there was no vehicle ready for his transport, as Mom and Puck were still returning from Plaza Frontenac, bringing upon the return, 50 chicken nuggets.
So Francis waited with a plate of quesadillas in the basement and the Discovery Channel, entirely unconcerned.
Fortunately, Rose was nearby at NAWS to get her damaged iPhone fixed by an old IT buddy — it was not a success. And when she pulled in the driveway, and Mom arrived not long later with Francis’ choir folder, Francis snagged Rose’s car and drove off at 12:59.
“Save me some chicken nuggets!” he called.
Meanwhile, Mom and the girls were also to depart. Tears began to fall out of the corners of Puck’s eyes, as was his usual reaction.
“I will miss dem,” he said mournfully, still unable to find his ‘th’.
Everything was quickly remedied with an orange dum-dum from his Sun, ‘to match your shirt’, she had explained.
The afternoon.
Puck worked through a box of sour lemon golden raisins.
On the porch… where Puck was playing mini bowling and waved to passerby and motorists on the street, including an enormous black dog on a leash from down the street: Midnight.
Organ Symphony.
And on another note, life was interesting in the little Silverspoon house, otherwise, upon occasion, known as ‘Firefly’. Not a great deal of ‘things’, per se… but stacks of books and notebooks and papers everywhere. Profusion. An overspill of ideas. And sometimes that overspill managed to clutter every corner.
A full moon was due.
Comedy nights continued with the five, following a media presentation and discussion led by OLeif for his class.
Meat Lover’s Pizza.
And Rose bringing up the horrible mention of Francis’ toe.
“Want to see pictures?” she asked, waving her iPhone around. “It’s disgusting.”
“So that’s why your phone broke!” said Magnus.