Mr. Motte?
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Graduation Recognition/Promotion Sunday hit in after Puck snagged a peanut butter cookie from the mess hall and stashed himself in the corner by the Usher’s Closet in his usual position.
“Could I have Mr. and Mrs. Snicketts come forward…” Henri called the youth Sunday School teachers forward.
“You mean doctor!” someone shouted back from the rows.
“Oh that’s right. Dr. Snicketts. Doc-tah!”
Also in the sanctuary, Daisy-Jean called forward all the children for the Kindergarten class…
“And Puck Silverspoon…”
“Yeah, Puck!” the high schoolers and junior highers applauded him down the aisle. “Whoo! Yeah!”
The tribe was pie-slicing into their individually appropriate slots for the afternoon…
Carrie – Bunny Mom Extraordinaire decked in everything rabbit, glow-in-the-dark shirt and dangly powder puff creature earrings included – was leaving for the bunny expo downtown, where Grandma Combs and Rose would be joining her with the camera. Benedict and friends also hoped to attend.
Francis lifted a rare Sunday work shift before tubing in Lake St. Louis with the O’s after picking up a boxed stack of pizzas.
And Linnea, after sharing some “Andy Griffith” with the rest of the family and Gretyl, was carting her elephant-heavy luggage up to Iowa for another week of girl stuff. So Dad and Mom were driving her 2.75 hours (or something) to some remote Northern Missouri hole-in-the-wall to meet them halfway.
Before departure, however, Puck cozied up with Dad for another chapter of “The Happy Hollisters”. There was also a last parting gift for Puck from the Puck & Grandma box – just what he wanted – a shiny red plastic water bird whistle. The same kind from the Cardinals commercial; he practiced diligently to elicit the proper tone.
Dad and Francis had cut up the lawn.
“Dad had a big grin on his face,” said Mom. “He and Francis each promised to cut only half.”
So…
The young Silverspoon family had plans of their own.
“Hey, Puck. You want to walk up a mountain that Indians made?”
Bright, big eyes.
“Yes! Yes!”
“I will get to explore little creatures with my eyes when we get to where the Indians live,” said Puck, as they bumped over into Illinois.
As they circled into the parking lot, Collette noted the brightly colored plates from Utah, New York, Ohio, etc.
“I’ve never heard of anyone coming here more than once,” OLeif noted. “This is great.”
It happened again…
One of the museum workers approached OLeif in the shadow of an Indian hunt…
“Excuse me,” she inquired, shrugging long dirty-blonde hair behind her shoulder. “But are you Jason Motte?”
“I am not,” OLeif replied politely.
“Oh! We all thought you were when you came in! You look exactly like him!”
“Well, we like Jason Motte,” OLeif offered a compromise.
Giving the illusion of infinity – life-size dioramas of Indian villages, plexiglass cases of thick pottery, smoothed stone axeheads. Corn and pumpkin growing outdoors. The gift shop stuffed with kachina dolls, hand-etched rainbow pottery, even marshmallow blowguns.
The afternoon had suddenly stunned quiet – no wind, hot sun. Still, there were more people on the mound than ever before. Probably because a nice billboard had been freshly installed just by the river on the way over. But the climb was always worth the long flight and the dust. The imagined memory of 700 years in the past alone was enough to inspire the gumption. Puck flew from one edge to the other, pausing to slap-clap the white dust from his flip-flops, not the best choice for mountain-climbing.
The largest archaeological site north of Mexico.
The afternoon drew in more clouds as they wound back past Mexican grocery stores towards familiar grounds.
OLeif liberally offered juice, chips, and sandwiches while he fueled up the blue beast. Who said a fuel station dinner was such a bad thing? QT’s bounty was fair bounteous, fresh, and tasty.
Puck’s Feast plates were still laid out on the dinner table, ready to be crowned with foods. OLeif was to be waiter, at Puck’s instruction, who was already sitting at the table’s head, knife in one hand, fork in the other.
OLeif emerged as promised, towel over arm, Collette’s Spanish red leather notebook and pen in hand, personality included.
“And for you sir?” he nodded at Puck over the tops of his eyeglasses.
“Uh,” Puck sputter-laughed. “Whatever you got me, Dad.”
“And would you like a purple drink with your meal, sir?”
“Yes.”
A clunk in the tub for Puck after a good bake in the afternoon, with the medicine plunger for entertainment which provided the best bath toy a kid could want.
“Mama?”
“Yes…”
“Girls have pink blood!”
Madeline.
It was like déjà vu from the old Panda days. Biscuit-kneading down the spine in all the sour spots, just like Panda had done so many years ago.