Quiet Tuesday

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Puck opened his show that morning with a crowd-pleaser: lifting himself out of his car seat by pulling up on the handle above his head. There was no fancy name for such a stunt, but he seemed well-pleased with his efforts and stuck out his tongue in happiness.

The sugar maples in the neighborhood were golden red, all of them. Reminded Collette of Michigan.

The morning continued with Puck turning himself in circles on the rug in the living room. The dude learned something new every day.

Sometime in the early afternoon, Collette heard that Rose thought she once again had the dreaded strep. Only time would tell. Another nasty round of that, would not be appreciated.

Later in the day, Puck initiated himself into the art of head-shaking imitation. He was equally pleased with himself after this accomplishment and spoke loudly about it for the rest of the afternoon.

He was, additionally, learning how to use his brute baby strength to move things. While reading books in his room on the rug, he managed to grab hold of his glider chair with one fist.

“Let go, Puck,” Collette told him as he pulled himself toward it.

She knew he had a hankering to chew on the chair as well. But Puck seemed determined and wouldn’t let go of the chair. As Collette pulled him away, he dragged the chair across the floor.

“No, silly,” Collette removed his fist from the chair.

She distracted him with a sink full of bubbles in the bathroom where he happily splashed his feet and watched the water fly. He tried to hold back the tears once the water had gone away down the drain.

Collette remembered when Tuesdays were not the quietest days of the week. That hadn’t been since high school – the only day of the week that almost every acquaintance her age met in the same room and sang together. It often seemed like more than four years since that had taken place.

Almost every tree was golden, crispy, rustling. Her favorite month had nearly ended.