Mostly Recuperated
Puck sat quietly in church just before the service started. Pen in hand, he concentrated on the drawing he was creating on the bulletin cover.
“These are mozzarella fireworks,” he said, chuckling to himself. “It’s a cheese factory.”
Later, he whispered to me his goal of inking the entire cover black during the sermon. He almost made it.
Mom was still on her long drive back from the east coast by that afternoon, so the remains of us (excluding Linnea-Irish at Six Flags and Joe and Jaya, just completing half-marathons downtown) sat around a table stuffed with spaghetti-squash casserole, biscuits, and salad. Francis didn’t even complain, and leaned over for a second serving. Only because he didn’t understand what was in the casserole.
By the time Joe and Jaya joined us around four o’clock, Francis had already left for Home Depot to pick up Dad’s recent purchase: a power-washer.
“That should keep Joe and Francis entertained for awhile,” Dad grinned.
Like candy to a baby.
Cecil Whittaker’s pizzas were rolled out on the table in time for dinner. Best to get the pizzas in while Mom’s still out. Everyone lounged around with pepperoni and hamburger.
Joe’s half-marathon medal still hung around his neck.
“Watch him wear that to work tomorrow, he’s so proud of it.”
“Right; there’ll be some unexplained bulge under his sweater.”
“Yeah,” Joe added, lifted the medal up for further admiration. “Don’t mean to flaunt it or anything, but… Francis. If you work hard, someday – you can have one too.”
Francis, who had recently admitted taking one of Dad’s cars Saturday night on a “short drive” all the way over to Alton, and used the ferry…
“Francis, did you tell Dad yet?” Carrie demanded.
“Shhhhhh…” Francis grinned.
“DAAAAD!” Joe tattled on him.
Meanwhile, Puck had found his own source of amusement, a white eraser he had transformed – by aide of permanent marker – into a “magic button.” This basically resulted in him throwing himself to the floor like a pop-up toy whenever he “pressed” the button. His imagination has become a little more wild since attending school; I’ll give him that. Then he got Dad into the mix, although instead of throwing himself on the floor, Dad waved crazy arms instead. Puck approved.
El Oso and I ended our evening with some “Good Eats,” although I’ll confess: the past seven and a half months of daily baseball has finally caught up with me, and I fell asleep during the third episode.