It's not 1972

Thursday, May 24, 2012

Puck immediately went on a cat hunt upon waking.
Madeline hid beneath-the-couch all morning.
“Mama? Why won’t Madeline come out of that tomb?”

Words were waiting on Houston.
OLeif worked from home leading into the bust-out shoe sale weekend, which, apparently, summarized all four-day weekends in the universe of Brown Shoe.
Madeline adjourned to beneath-the-bookshelf.

OLeif kicked out a lengthy lunch meet-up with Henri Eight over fish eggs and eel, while Puck lunched at home, and philosophized about the future.
“Daddy and me may start a business of some music,” he said, in serious pomp.
To confirm this idea, he retrieved the Irish whistle and Spanish American war trumpet – or whatever – to form his own band during Quiet Hour.
After some brief petting, Madeline fled to beneath-Puck’s-bed.

And…
Another game.
While Puck waited to leave, he sat in the hatchback with an orange popsicle, requesting that Collette remove his bike so he had more room…
“If you want, Mama, you can ride it. You’re as light as a bee. You’re as light as a sleeping Panda.”

So Puck was dropped off at the house and marched into the door, ready for some action.
“You look like a little boy who could use some ice cream,” Carrie greeted him.
“Yes!”
Dilly bars.
“Cheers!” Carrie instructed, as they clunked bars.

It wasn’t long after “the wave” snaked an impressive three and a half times around the stadium that…
Well, it wasn’t the first time Collette had witnessed the awfulness…
“I haven’t seen that happen since 1972,” some lady noted later.
An inflated groaning cheer as 40,000 rose to their feet upon the unexpected activity on the field. Chased by a crowd of ushers in red and officers in uniform…
The streaker.
“Oh not again,” Collette sighed, suddenly becoming interested in a pile of moths attracting attention from the stadium lights.
Once the offender had been forced back into his clothes during the lengthy delay, and had been appropriately body slammed…
“And that’s why you don’t drink,” the mother in front of them prematurely scolded her two young boys.
“Don’t worry, I won’t!” one of them groaned. “That’s disgusting!”
The game returned.
Collette was later satisfied to learn that the fool had not been from St. Louis, but rather Jeff City, and would be jailed overnight.
At least.
Tired winds ruffled up peanut skins from the upper decks as the excitement of close innings continued late into the night.