Numbers Go On Forever

I pulled into another frozen parking lot that Tuesday morning. This time, however, there were some promises of a little thawing. A little.

I worked the office as usual. One of the second grade boys raced in before lunch to check on the recess status.

“Are we having recess indoors or outdoors today?” he asked.

“I’ll check.”

“Well,” replied the Head of School. “Is the sun shining?” she teased.

They were sent outside. Sure these kids know nothing of walking to school every day ten miles uphill both ways. A little thirty-degree weather won’t damage them.

 

Ditto saw me dragging “rounders” across the floor, re-working the boys clothing floor plan on a slow customer afternoon.

 

Puck waltzed past me out of his classroom just before three o’clock, padded to the neck in his fat orange winter coat. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hey, bud.”

He followed his classmates down the brick hallway until something sparked his memory and he came rushing back.

“Mom! Numbers go on forever, right?”

“As far as we know.”

That’s all he needed to hear, no doubt some debate between himself and a classmate so that he felt the need to run off and prove himself correct.

In fact, following homework, he sprawled himself on the kitchen linoleum with a roll of fresh paper to sketch out the next largest number he could think of, going well beyond a googol. I heard pencil scrawls – zeros, over and over and over – for over half an hour until the masterpiece was complete. Takes after his mom’s love of large numbers.

 

Another cold night of pale orange light in the west drawing on a very blue dusk as Puck and I holed up away from those single digits in a warm kitchen with a feisty cat.

Fish tacos and more “I Love Lucy” spelled out dinner for the evening. Rose joined in late from work; took selfies with a moderately grumpy Crackers. Then Oxbear bought us cookies in an assortment or mint and apricot/raspberry jelly.

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Jamie Larson
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