Short a Few
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Following dreams of being chased by two black bears…
Between five sneezes at the breakfast table, Puck ran out of the kitchen, declaring, “I have to go to the baaaathroooom!! I have to go to the bathroom every time I get up in the morning, right, Mom? That’s one of the rules of survival.”
Puck had heavy subjects on the mind as they coasted to church with the Spanish audio Bible flabbergasting the air…
“When I grow up and marry Anneliese, I do not want to move to another country.”
“Well, I would like that. But God might want you to.”
“Yes, but. You know what’s important? I will move there if I am going to be a missionary.”
“That could be.”
“Will there be flowers on my tomb when I die?”
“Probably.”
“Because I worshipped God?”
“Well, yes. People will put flowers there to remember you and your life while you worshipped God.”
“But… how long will I be in the ground?”
“Till the end of the world, maybe. But your spirit will be with God, the part that thinks and sees.”
“Oh. But I will be walking around in Heaven, right?”
“Yes. You won’t be in the ground in Heaven.”
And one more time again – Puck snagged a gab with Baby Hesed before they took off for another farewell send-off at another church some-town else.
A ridiculously long and ugly congregational meeting – as ugly as Presbyterians would allow it to get – which never really went anywhere, and only stirred up more trouble as usual.
During the longevity of the underscored irritability, Puck composed a regular craft show in his row with various papers and damp tissues, including licking the seam of the bulletin before shredding it – to presumably cut down on the noise. He wasn’t pleased to learn that Sunday School had been hijacked, and that he would not, after all, be allowed to paint wooden snakes with his fellow classmates.
“They’re silly mans!” he declared of the session, trying to medicate his wounded anticipation.
Everything concluded with Linnea-Irish joining the other dozen and a half youth from Grace and One Ancient Hope (including the Pie girls) for a week of youth retreat in Panama Beach, Florida.
Donuts at the house – the old kind.
The same heavy humid heat.
Puck getting into trouble.
All the boys giving their share of prodding each other into trouble…
“Are you sure you don’t want a girl?” Carrie asked for the numerous-th time.
It was a loud afternoon.
Things quieted a little when Francis left for work.
“My little stud muffin,” Carrie goggled at Earnest. “The face that launched a thousand ships. In terror!”
Meanwhile, the radar sort of looked like a bucket of cherries had spilled over the monitor. Everywhere but St. Louis, of course.
With the returned humidity, the heat was now oppressive.
Carrie brought out a medicine syringe filled with water to feed the two baby robins in the dogwood tree.
An hour consultation on Francis’ future between Dad, Mom, and Collette.
“Guys,” Mom called inside around four. “There’s dark clouds out there, if you want to come out on the porch.”
“I know,” Carrie replied, always sensitive to air pressure changes. “I heard them.”
Dad brought in Deter’s frozen custard while everyone enjoyed the old madrigal dinners on DVD as thunder rumbled, but again did nothing.
Crackers fell asleep with Puck that night, one fuzzy paw on his face.
And finally the rain came with booms and cracks.