Happy 27/50th of a Century

Sunday, February 5, 2012

So… Dad was 54.
And his day started with severe back spasms.
He stayed home from church; this never happened.

Collette spent that hour speaking with Ivy, Daisy-Jean, and several of the other women about thyroid cancer.

Back on the ranch, two boxes of Paul’s Donuts sat on the counter, in honor of Dad, including his favorites, apple fritters, hunted out by Joe early in the morning. Dad was adjusting his spine on some level with a contraction loaned to him by Jonas Swiss. Carrie was frying burgers, toasting croutons, tearing salad, pulling the family recipe hot potato casserole from the oven, and frosting the cake.
Following the filling meal, which somehow included conversation about “squishy yard moles” and “bumpy heads”, Dad puffed out the candles on the thickly caramel frosted cake with one poof. He was gifted a photo book composed by Carrie and Collette, including Mom’s entire travel journal, of their second European travels the previous spring. And Joe composed an original poem, on the spot:

Roses are red, violets are blue,
Your head is bald, and mine will be too.

“Think I could sell that one to Hallmark?”

Meanwhile, Joe had also been getting creative in the cardboard department, crafting original sculptures in his room.
“This one is for your apartment, Rose.”
“Thanks, but… no.”
“Come on now,” he boomed importantly. “I insist!”
“It looks like the Methodist symbol,” said Mom.
“You’re a Methodist symbol.”
“Francis,” Rose scolded him. “Why do you always suck in your stomach?”
“Because I have so many sisters who like to poke it,” he replied with a grin.
Puck ran upstairs with another sculpture that looked like a spin off a modern Olympic torch.

The daily siesta commenced with textbook readings and Arniflora (sore neck) for OLeif, bunny ear cleaning for Carrie, and blisters for Rose (from painting one of the offices in Illinois). She also played screechy Irish music on her laptop.
“What is that? A duck?”
“That sounds like something you would play, Rose.”
“You should play the tuba,” Linnea suggested.
What followed next was Rose cleaning out her expansive iTunes library, playing clips from every album.
Then Dad was complaining about the bunnies.
“Aw. Poor baby,” said Carrie, cuddling Ketseh. “Grandpa’s teasing you. Grandpa’s just teasing you.”
Dad had smile lines.
Rose was due for a shoulder massage from Carrie after a long week of work and her eyes being dilated…
“What are you doing… you’re just trying to feel my muscles!”
“Actually, I was. They’re just looking kind of squishy there.”
“Stop it! I’ve been working on them. Ow! Stop that!”
Dad was trying to coordinate drop-offs and pick-ups for the afternoon before the game started. No one even really seemed to know who was playing or anything.
“You can’t drop things off during the game,” Dad said adamantly. “You can’t let people interrupt the Super Bowl. They won’t like that.”
“Respect the Bowl, man!” Carrie teased.
Then Linnea came stomping through the living room.
“’I’m soooo angry!’” Joe imitated in a squeaky voice.
Francis and Puck were busy fighting each other with swords crafted out of magic markers stuck together, which turned into marking each other with the red one in a battle of wills and muscle. Puck left battle scarred, after-which he began pounding numerous magic marker dots onto a sheet of construction paper…
“This is my list of bullies,” he said. “Francis is the biggest bully.”

When they returned, the game was about started. Linnea had left for the youth party with Gretyl, dropped off by Joe. Francis was leaving for another party with another youth group. And Puck was discussing life and difficulties with Elodie-Rose…
“You will have to go soon though, Rose, because Grandpa corrects you all the time,” he noted.
Rose laughed.
He had been saying other things to OLeif as well…
“Do you know what Satan is, Dad? He’s the baddest snake in hell!”
As they settled in after the kick-off, the girls tried not to comment too much on how little they liked football…
“Football is such a manly sport,” Carrie said to Dad.
“Yes, it is a manly sport.”
“It’s his birthday,” she whispered to Collette.
Of course Rose, who was preparing to leave for a non Super Bowl party, had her own observations…
“Well there’s too much slow motion of men in stretchy pants if you ask me.”
“Rose!” Mom exclaimed.
“Well I can’t help it. Look. They draw circles around their rear ends all the time.”

While Collette and Puck waited in the red Civic for OLeif to emerge with the brevity of the week’s groceries, Puck requested a reading from the small yellow phone book Dad had bequeathed to him.
“Could we read the whole thing, Mama?”