Game Day

Sunday, July 11, 2010

The previous afternoon, Theodore and OLeif had re-stacked the shelving in the basement and OLeif had cleaned up the corner under the stairs. Everything looked so much better.

Meanwhile, after church and pans of chicken enchiladas… further dinner conversation…

“Did you check out how full that ‘Bag a Bug’ is?” Carrie said. “I’ve just been picking beetles off the roses and stuffing them in it.”

“Don’t you feel guilty for doing that?” Dad asked her. “What if you were a bug? So, Adel, no dessert?” Dad asked.

“Sorry, no.”

“Remember those cicadas Rose and I used to fly around with dental floss?” said Francis.

“Yeah. But then their heads would pop off.”

“Really? No dessert? Nothing?” Dad asked again.

“I hate to say it. But, no,” Mom replied again.

“Last night, someone decided to give a concerto outside my window,” said Carrie. “That was the loudest cicada I’ve ever heard. Rose and I were arguing over whose window he was outside of, he was so loud.”

“There’s nothing in the deep freeze, Adel? The freezer?”

Lunch concluded with tornado watches in the west.

The final game. Holland versus Spain. All in all, slightly dull. A shower of yellow cards for the Dutch. And a red. Five yellows for the Spaniards. But it was still two hours-plus of entertainment. And watching the medals awarded, Casillas, David Villa, Puyol, etc., passing around the shining gold prize under glittering foils of falling gold.

“That confetti looks like gold band-aids,” Dad noted.

Meanwhile, the thunder had come. And the rain. Between spells of showers and cracking thunder, Carrie hurried outside to bag more beetles.

Followed everything with Little Caesar’s.

And to cap off the day, Forlán had been awarded the Golden Ball.

3:10 to Yuma for the evening show.