Make Stuff
“Boys!” Dad steadily shouted down the basement staircase, listing his announcement in bullet points. “Sausage! Scrambled eggs! Waffles! Come now, or forever hold your peace.”
It didn’t take long to get the message across as Puck enjoyed some toons – a luxury – over his own hot plate, which Mom had served up at the grill to her own tunes of the preferred 1950’s. And Carrie debated further techniques for eradicating the fruit fly colony from the house. After everyone had chastised Francis for his bad habits at the dining room table – all we were missing was a Middle Ages thumbscrew – Joe prepared for a shift at the chocolate cafe in Cottleville.
“I’ll dress you like a hipster, Joe,” Carrie offered. “You’ll have to wear a scarf.”
“Noooo…”
“How about some fake tattoos. I’ll braid your eyebrows. Add some beads. ‘What do you want, guys? Man, I’m so tired. I was up soooo late last night.’”
“’I was so busy blogging…’”
“I don’t think they blog anymore. Tumblr or something. ‘I was Tumblr-ing the history of my toe nail growth. Set to music.’”
Shortly later, Carrie wheeled the vacuum through the kitchen…
“I’m going to go suck those fruit flies out of my room.”
I had promised Rose a lasagna. In thanks for some dirty work regarding Crackers. And because I had the car and I was behind the credit card, Dierberg’s and Target were mercifully at my disposal. Even if Target was only for boring items – socks, black hooded zip-up sweatshirt for Puck and more coconut milk conditioner and then Dierberg’s for even more uninterestingness, I had the peace of black ceilings, artfully arranged leeks and radishes, and the luxury of quiet aisles stocked with St. Louis pies and eggs and other things.
I cracked open autumn’s first pomegranate back in the kitchen. The house was quiet as the little red jeweled lanterns spilled out of their honeycomb casings. Puck munched away as I filled a small Tupperware of the gems for Rose to take back with her lasagna. The whir of frozen lawn mower buzzed around the house as Francis stirred up one more clipping before winter. And Carrie troubleshooted Grandma Combs’ Roku box over the phone. I sat down, finally, at quarter till twelve. So much work for one pan of food.
Meanwhile, Linnea-Irish walked in from another two hours of volleyball at the RecPlex. They’ve got to be at the point of dreaming volleyballs now. I don’t see how they can’t. Carrie still wasn’t feeling so well, so she tried to nap off the remains of whatever she had probably caught from Puck, while he enjoyed Shelley Duvall’s “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow”.
“Want to take a ride?” Mom asked us, as we were already preparing to leave.
I’m a sucker for a ride in the autumn. Even with everything dying, the hills still exhibit some beauty on the back roads to Six Flags down I-44. Fewer people know about this route, but I’m kind of glad about that. Winding pavement through hills pin-tucked with mansions no one can see and old places who knows when they were built.
We ended up sitting in the drop-off lot for half an hour waiting for Linnea’s volleyball pal to arrive while Mom leafed through her favorite catalog with Puck. “Victorian Papers”. Mom would live in Victorian Papers if she could.
Turns out Mom felt like rewarding our wait with the fried pie shop back down the outer road. We all shared a couple of chocolate hand pies and brought back apple, cherry, and blackberry for the rest of the family. Although I’m guessing if The Bear had been with us, his choice would have been no contest. Meat Lovers – peperoni, hamburger, and cheese. What else do you put in a breakfast pastie?
That night… I tried my hands – both equally capable of murdering any sort of craft in general – on a costume for my son. Fortunately, there were enough shades of green squares available on the internet to print up something that could be formed into a Minecraft Creeper box mask.
Crackers tried to share my omelet. I wasn’t so accommodating. So she started to eat my hair. Puck didn’t like this…
“Crackers, you can’t do this. Don’t mess with Mama and stop annoying her. I’m going to have to invent a new toy, a new tool for you, if you keep doing this disobedience. Ok. Starting tomorrow, son, you have to learn.”
So that’s what I did on my Saturday night with a box and The Bear’s laminating machine, while Puck snored away down the hall.