If OLeif Played Baseball
Thursday, July 5, 2012
OLeif was trading out one kind of work for another. The “another” included mowing the lawn [well, the few weed sprig patches] before the thermometer surged to 107, reading shelves to Puck, and he had a headache.
Puck, who had been cuddling a kitten who always fell asleep immediately in Puck’s blanket – “My thumb is the same size as her nose,” he said sweetly – resurrected the doctor kit. He plunged a syringe into OLeif’s mouth after taking his temperature.
Puck chowed down a burger over lunch…
“Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!”
“Yes… Puck?”
“I’m sorry I talked with my mouth full.”
Two-thirty send Collette to the office for a few hours of work. Or less…
The air was heavy again, maybe with humidity clouding in the atmosphere, which always made everything feel weighted.
While Collette chunked out stacks of papers, OLeif chatted with Henri and took Puck to visit the Ryes for another “one last time”.
Puck was transferred to the house at four-thirty under the supervised care of Francis, Linnea, and McDonald’s.
Then down to the city with a sack of Chick-fil-A.
Game time temperature – 104. Didn’t feel like it so much…
“What do they do out there when they’re all talking on the mound?” OLeif asked.
“Sort of remind each other what to do next,” Collette said.
“So the pitcher’s like, ‘Ok, on my signal. Everyone starts barking like dogs. And I want the outfielders to start spinning in circles.’”
“Yeah. That sounds right…”
If OLeif played baseball…
A kid walked past them in the top of the 8th and sort of giggled to himself…
“Hey,” he called over his shoulder to OLeif, “did anyone tell you you have a beard like Jason Motte?”
“Once or twice,” OLeif laughed.
Collette was beginning to wonder if this was now the common explanation for why people stared a lot at OLeif in public.
“I don’t know,” OLeif shrugged. “I personally think it’s just the beard in general… Although my boss seems to take pride in the fact that I look like him. He mentions it just about every other day…”
Before the fireworks signaled victory, they walked out to beat the hour.
OLeif paused to hand a woman with one eye a large bottle of cold water – “I’m sorry; I don’t have any money”; she smiled and thanked him – after two young punks walking behind – something about, “if I helped out every bum…”
Mist-shrouded pale yellow moon under the Arch.