Haunts and Hovels
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
The next seven days but for Wednesday were set in the 40’s and half-sun. Cold enough to stay buried in the maroon Gap fleece pull-over from Grandpa Snicketts and family for her 12th Christmas. Puck waved goodbye to OLeif and watched the man from the turquoise-green house notice the flat tire on his green utility vehicle. Puck then started breakfast by discovering that the two neighbor dogs were busy digging a tunnel to the middle of the Indian Ocean. They were really going at it. Someone was not going to be happy.
“Mama. A bee stung the dog who was digging. Get it?”
“Why did the bee sting the dog?”
“I don’t know,” he giggled. “I think we should tell the owners.”
“I think he will find out.”
“But I just have one position to make. Donkey didn’t make his position so he will have to go to his donkey jail in my room.”
“What’s a position?”
“It’s a question that tells you something.”
In the middle morning, Puck opened his fortune cookie…
“This message is from Doctor Who,” he said.
“You are soon going to change your present line of work.”
“Yay. I’m going to keep it with me always and under my pillow so it will come true.”
Then he played with his robot.
Cold crab rangoon; still amazing.
More of Spurgeon was read during lunch…
“Mama? What does Heaven look like?”
“Well, we don’t know everything about that.”
“Because God doesn’t want us to know yet, right?”
“Right. He wants to surprise us.”
“Why do people talk to Jesus?”
“That’s how we spend time with Him.”
“What does God look like?”
“We don’t know. He’s beautiful though.”
Stickers arrived in the early mail for Puck. Collette soon found her cheeks festooned with space ships and apples. A little pan pipes during Quiet Hour for Puck’s benefit. Followed by a little “Evita”. Collette was no fan of musicals, but sometimes for remembrance’s sake…
In the sunshine of the afternoon, while Collette jogged, Puck built himself a little bungalow under the piano with stacks of blankets and pillows. Popcorn and Donkey was included. When he emerged later, he crawled into the rose-colored chair and balled himself up as small as he could go.
“Look, Mama. I’m doing what kitties do.”
“You are indeed.”
“Kitties can do this easier than men, right?”
Shortly later he was plunked in a hot bath in which his armada of disowned plastic measuring cups and spoons was dispatched into the bubbly waters by the young chemist. The next half-hour was a pure war zone of flying cups, ½ cups, ¼ cups, and teaspoons. The bath was concluded with more green apple shampoo, Dalek bathrobe, and scrubby shining cheeks on Collette’s little man, who was growing up entirely too fast.
Collette heated her sizable portion of the leftover Chinese for dinner, although Puck was not keen on the Polynesian-inspired crab rangoon over strains of Classic99.com. Puck was also interested in employing his own set of chopsticks. He tried to imitate Collette, but after a short period of attempts, decided that stabbing was just as good. Aside from being less elegant. And there was nothing so sad as the last crab rangoon in the bag.
The evening ended with further readings from The Happy Hollisters, as usual.
That night OLeif met with two old work pals, Simon and Alfonso (who apparently hadn’t been out since the twins were born five months ago), for Mexican cuisine and catching up on life. So Collette’s evening was spent in various other activities, including more Spurgeon and three and a half hours of Rose-recommended Bollywood Mughal emperor and Hindu princess epic. Over a piece of medium cheddar.