Hello, St. Louis; Goodbye, Matt Holliday
Ten o’clock. Clayton. A relatively small stack of paperwork on a shiny conference table. A few signatures. And we were done. Our realtor handed us the house key and a box of 55 daffodil bulbs.
“For the boys to plant in the yard,” she grinned.
We were homeowners again. And for the first time in St. Louis County.
Hours later, Puck and I coasted through the winding high roads of the bluffs and down 109 to Eureka. Heidi had another volleyball game, and Puck was eager to collect more bleacher loot.
We were in Oxbear’s car, and didn’t have access to the usual playlists, so it was the radio. Oldies. I looked sideways at Puck, directing his hands through the air to the beat of the song.
“Mom, the 70s and 80s were some pretty bad times!”
“Oh?”
“Yeah! Mug shots…”
“Mug shots?”
“Yeah – you know – street shots, gun shots, hippies everywhere. The 70s and 80s had great music though! But they were some weird times!”
Eventually, conversation drifted to thoughts on Heaven, and how it doesn’t “hold a place for those who pray”.
“You know, Mom, some people actually think hell is right below us. And that Heaven is right above us. But we just don’t know, you know? Hell could be, like, right next to us on this side, and we can’t tell. And Heaven could be, like, billions of galaxies away! We just don’t know!”
Puck was slightly disappointed when we walked into the gym to discover there was zero access underneath the bleachers. Completely blocked off by the wall. But it didn’t stop him from trying to squeeze his body between that wall and the bleachers.
“I can fit, Mom! I really can!”
He couldn’t. In the end, he got pretty caught up in the game instead, which Heidi won. And after the celebratory screaming had ended, it was time to drive back through the light rain for movie night.
Tragically, on that drive, Carrie-Bri texted me the saddening and shocking news that Matt Holliday had not been invited to return to St. Louis for 2017. Puck, who doesn’t care two cents about baseball, still became indignant for me, texting Oxbear and Carrie-Bri about the dilemma all the way back to the Silverspoon’s.
“Why did the Cardinals fire Matt Holliday, Dad? Whoever did that deserves a punch in the face!”
I couldn’t argue with him.