Gotta Get Things Done

Carrie-Bri tossed one more blanket over the top of the door as we set up our podcasting station for the morning. Blankets and pillows – everywhere – to muffle outside intrusions of noise. We did pause about halfway through for Carrie to yell out the door at Irish.

“Quit slamming things around in the bathroom!”

But we managed to conclude our recording session with minimal background noise clutter.

I looked up and it was lunch – Mom and Carrie came back from Costco with chicken salad and soft croissants. Also a box of canned Izzes. I went with blackberry.

On my way to pick up the Puckling from school, a semi roared past me in a 50 mph construction zone. Hundreds of white chickens packed into trays, wide black eyes – probably in terror – as they thundered down the highway towards imminent doom. Chicken feathers flying everywhere. For miles. Poor chaps.

Puck was a crazy goon from the moment I picked him up. I don’t know what got into him. Maybe it was the balmy 73+ degree temperatures of a gold-sun afternoon. Maybe all that cabin fever suddenly just had to bust out at the same time. And yet, amazingly, he got busy with colored pencils and drawing sheet of a waterfall on the drive back and hardly said a word. This artist takes his art seriously.

When we got back to the Big House, he ran into the backyard, found a wedge of old wood somewhere in the woodpile I guess and painted it at the picnic table like a juicy wedge of watermelon. Numerous black seeds included. Another work of art. He let it dry on the porch, along with his stinky Chucks – boys are smelly creatures.

Dinner was already being served – cheeseburgers. Snuggles sat at his customary bench seat and sniffed the air, incessantly. Finally I took pity on him and gave him a few pinches of beef.