Round One
I was apparently testing for a math teacher’s certificate; didn’t want to; got suckered in somehow. Ended up at the wrong testing facility, with Puck as a baby, on an early Saturday evening: a church in Springfield. Was supposed to be in Columbia. Relieved it didn’t work out.
Reality was better than my late Saturday night dream. Low grumbles in a dark gray west, spread like blanket over the whole sky, blooming green buds, bird chirps, white blossoms, then rain on the tin roof across the street, slowly washing the sheet between flashes and thunderclaps. About right for an April morning.
Taking notes through apocalyptic expositions in a 9:15 class behind fogging windows, like sitting beside an aquarium, velvet green aquatic grass on the other side.
Rose was already at the Big House, ready to wrap up taxes with Dad, who was back late with Mom after interviewing for membership at church. They consulted in Dad’s basement office for some time. Rose marched back upstairs for her laptop, grumbling something about “those shysters.” Another time more she emerged with the verdict on her return:
“Two hundred fifty. Woooooo.”
“Come sit here,” Carrie beckoned to her. “I will console you.”
When Grandma arrived, we were all ready in the family circle – minus Francis somewhere between Atlanta and Florida – for the gift opening. Garfield Volume 7, blue piggy bank safe, lab kit, a super soaker and airplane kite from Joe and Jaya, and even Francis had left him an electronics snap-together kit. Seven years old was looking pretty sweet.
Dad had already fired up the grill with the traditional hot dogs and brats. Strawberries, blueberries, homemade mac ‘n cheese, beer potato chips. And a yellow-cake-chocolate-chip bundt with sides of Blue Bunny ice cream for dessert. Three tries to get all the candles.
Puck fumbled with the electronics set on the floor after the eats, encouraged by his dad to figure things out piece by piece. Sometimes Puck likes to jump the gun:
“Fine! I’ll look at the instructions and cheat!”
If that’s his definition of cheating, I can handle it. But he got the gizmos going anyway, and followed it up by shooting Mom’s ferns with the super soaker on the front porch. Indoors, Snuggles attacked Grandma’s bag of kitty treats, gnawing into the little duffle, while we girls conferenced in the living room and Dad listened in over a second bowl of ice cream. We know he likes girl talk too, even if he doesn’t admit it.