Lots of Glory

Another blur of a Monday left Puck and myself loading up the Mazda with groceries sometime after three o’clock in the afternoon under the wingtip of another storm, passed about an hour earlier.

It had been a brief shower, rain falling light enough for Puck to lead the charge running down the street, orange laces flashing, trailed by the neighbor girls on their scooters to pick up more friends around the corner.

 

Even earlier, prior to lunch, Puck discussed a few topics on his mind during our history readings of ancient nomadic tribes, including the Israelites. Solomon’s temple was described in brief detail. So Puck’s mind took off, apparently inspired to envision upcoming splendors.

“We know there’s lots and lots of glory in Heaven. And lots and lots of glorious buildings. But we know there’s lots and lots of glory. And probably gold or diamonds or emeralds. And lots of stones that we haven’t even discovered yet. That aren’t even found on this planet. Or very polished glass, or stones that are a red type of material, or an orange type of material. And they would be handed out to everyone. There will probably be lots of glory though. Or gold that glittered in the sun, like the temple in Jerusalem that Pastor Scott was talking about.”

I mostly just listen, and nod. Once the soliloquy has ended, we discuss.

 

It was past dinner. Laundry, dishes, all those thrills, while Puck burst out the front door to play with friends. I had a couple of minutes quiet. Relative. Shouts and wild laughter seeping through the windows.

I checked on them from time to time. Piles of loud creatures in the front yard tree, and in the pick-up once El Oso had parked it in the driveway. Swarming. Sometimes I get the idea that no other good climbing trees exist in the neighborhood, the way they hang around this sorry excuse for a good climbing location.

Anyway, by seven o’clock there was an all-out screaming, laughing war going on, boys against girls. I looked out the front door to check on things. Eddie – who prides himself on his weight, measuring to within a tenth of an ounce and outranking me by about twenty pounds I think – was yelling for help while one of the (much slighter) neighbor girls tackled him around the middle. Anna crashed through the front door with a mostly empty Super Soaker, screaming, Puck right behind her.

“Don’t chase the girls around, Puck,” I warned. It was more of a suggestion, granted.

He grinned with professionalism anyway. “That’s our main goal!”

And Crackers started eating my hydrangeas.

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Jamie Larson
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