Tempting
At a sleepy arrival some six or seven hours later, Puck was already being toted out to Walgreen’s in Big Old Green by Francis for a gallon of breakfast milk. Mom had the counter grill frying bacon and eggs, which Linnea – lounging on the roof before the weather – supplemented with creamy peanut butter toast.
The boys returned forty-five minutes later with two boxes of bomb pops.
No surprise.
Meanwhile Snuggles was annoying even mom with his incessant meows for food…
“Go fly a kite, and let me eat in peace!” she begged.
But cats don’t listen.
Joe emerged from the basement for coffee…
“Francis, you get the golden star,” he announced at random. “And, Puck, you get to throw it at him!”
So with mold counts over 206,000 from Tuesday [we found ourselves at around 114,000 for Wednesday] which, I have to say, is brain-bogglingly bad, we were given hopes of severe thunderstorms that night.
We didn’t have to wait that long.
Morning storms are a novelty around here. Well, at least this year. With the mess that has been the weather, I can’t say how good it was to see a packed dark front sitting just across the old highway as Carrie and I drove out to the post office.
I waited in the car while Carrie mailed off a leather jacket to Columbus, Ohio. Cottleville is an almost-not-quite-Night-of-the-Twisters town. But with the sudden gusts of wind and whirling early autumn leaves, it was a pretty good disguise, a heavy dark gray sky pinned over Civil War era junk store, chocolate cafe, novelty shops, financial advisors, etc. The “Spirited Away” soundtrack also helped, of course.
“It’s funny how everyone seems to suddenly get in a better mood around here when a storm’s coming,” Carrie noted. “’Oh, why let me help you with that door!’”
We decided it must be a St. Louis thing.
The rain hit maybe an hour later, enough to soak the downed-log ecosystem in the yard, followed by Francis and the chain saw, clearing away the spiky shards of wood still mounted on the remaining stump.
As I explained linear equations to Linnea at the kitchen table, the boys eagerly discussed upgrades to Joe’s Fit over a combination collection of LED strip lights also arranged on the table, and Mom departed in her own Fit. She and Grandma Combs were meeting the Normandy ladies – Grandma’s high school friends (one of whom was her maid of honor) – someplace in Illinois for lunch.
All in all, the storm was largely disappointing. Only two strikingly loud claps of thunder. Maybe we’re just spoiled.
Salon Snicketts was in full session by the afternoon, which had muggy-ed over again in warm sun.
Hair-braiding, ear cleaning, hair dying, hair cutting, eyebrow plucking… Those last two were for Francis.
“I paid five dollars for this?” he groaned, lounged grimacing-psychologist-couch-style while Carrie just laughed at his pain.
Puck was shocked at the level of apparent torture his uncle was currently witnessing.
“If you want a girlfriend, you have to pluck your eyebrows,” Carrie explained to him. “That’s just what you have to do.”
“Well I have a girlfriend and she is Anneliese! And I’m not going to get my eyebrows cut! They’re not going to be ‘cutten’ ever! I won’t do it!”
The box of hair dye box I had purchased, I also noticed, had been slowly doodled over throughout the afternoon.
Carrie hand-rolled and cut dumplings for chicken soup.
Linnea met Gretyl for a run at the track.
Francis was out someplace somewhere with more kids in a Gospel acronym t-shirt.
Joe left with a thin stack of applications to deposit around town before the eight o’clock service at Matthias’ Lot.
And the Bear arrived to a wife with hair half a shade lighter. He always likes it. I think he would like it if I dyed my locks in shades of peacock.
Yes, yes, we watched another Korean television Netflix episode tonight while Crackers passed some winks at me for a taste of dark chocolate.