The Condition
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
The girls were at work. Joe had still not fully recovered from his “whatever”. Maybe it was a cold. Maybe it was something else. And Frances was in a rut.
“I can’t do anything with Creole today until I get all my school done, math with you, and mow the lawn.”
Yes, it was warm enough for that.
“Well, I guess you’ll just have to hurry, then,” Collette told him.
Frances sighed. Math rarely passed at a decent rate of speed. He was known to draw out a math session for three hours at a stretch. While Frances attacked his school work, Puck was cruising around the Christmas tree.
“Pff! Pff!” He called to the twinkling branches.
Collette had to occasionally rescue him from fallen tinsel which he also felt necessary to run over the curious taste buds. Collette’s taste buds were being tempted not by flashy silver strings, but by bowls of foil-wrapped Christmas chocolates.
“Curses!”
“Frances, stop blowing bubbles and get ready for math!” Mom called to him from the other room.
Frances grinned and took a long sip through his exotic Middle Eastern looking pipe straw, two yards long. Most of the intake was air, but a good effort anyway. While Frances transfered the endless straw into the sink after creating several puddles of Pepsi on the floors and counters, he brought out the dreaded orange textbook and got to work.
Puck danced with his grandma in the kitchen to the crackly tunes of “Harbor Lights” on the fuzzy old AM station.
Come afternoon, Mom and Linnea were ready to leave for choir. There was a bit of a situation. Mom and Frances were in the driveway discussing the terms of Frances being able to go over to Creole’s house for the rest of the afternoon. The front lawn and side lawn had to be mowed. No questions asked. Linnea came meandering up the sidewalk to where Collette and Puck sat on the porch swing.
“I thought you were leaving,” Collette said.
“No, not yet. Frances isn’t happy.”
“Ah.”
“Well, I’m gonna go watch the show,” Linnea grinned and ran off.
By the time Mom and Linnea had finally shipped off, Carrie-Bri and Rose came racing up the street two car-lengths ahead of Joe in the minivan. Once inside, Carrie oohed and aawed over her new Top Gear book which had just arrived in the mail before whipping out the scissors. She planted Joe on a bar stool in the middle of the kitchen. The hair fell in clumps everywhere. Joe picked up two fingerfuls and held it toward Puck who sat in Rose’s lap on the counter.
“Here, Puck, you wanna eat this?”
Puck’s little hands eagerly reached out for the treasure.
“No, Puck! That’s gross!” Rose whipped him away just in time.
Earlier, when Puck had grabbed for her bare toes propped up on the table, Rose was happy for a baby finger massage.
Meanwhile, Frances was out plowing through the yard. He was actually running with the lawn mower, tearing down the home stretch. Grass flying everywhere. He finished just in time to leave for Creole’s.