The Return of Snow

Sunday, November 30, 2008

Snow — on the final day of the month. Collette drew all the shades when she woke up to show Puck the generously dusted white world that cold blue morning.
And then Collette once again accompanied Carrie-Bri and Rose to Memorial in the city, after sitting with a squirming Puck for the first service at Grace. He was a busy fellow, and decided that he could no longer sit still, after polishing off a bucket of dried cranberries, once the sermon had begun.
By later in the afternoon, everyone lay around in the living room in a lethargic fog by the fire, all seven of them, (except for Puck, who was more alert from his nap). All full from chicken fingers, Sister Schubert rolls, and Dr. Who… until the last mad scramble to tuck things away before Mom and Dad returned from Branson.
Mom was bubbling with ideas and descriptions of their weekend. One particular idea included writing the family Christmas letter as rewritten lyrics to the tune of “Jingle Bells”.
“Mom, no!” all of the girls exclaimed at the same time. “How embarrassing!”
The boys thought this was funny, and laughed together, while Joe stretched himself out on his back on the floor, with the fat black kitty on his stomach.
“I prepared you for this reaction, Adel,” Dad said with a chuckle. “She spent our ride there and back writing it out.”
“I did not spend all that time writing it,” said Mom, with a laugh. “But I managed to rhyme belly dance with agrifinance.”
“Mom,” Carrie moaned. “I will secede from this family if you send that out.”
Mom dropped the idea for the present, laughing at the general protest. Her next idea was not as loudly objected.
“How would you guys like to put up a put-put course in the backyard?”
“That’d be sweet,” said Joe, who had strapped a headlamp to his head, watching the flash of it light the ceiling, on and off, on and off.
“No put-put, Mom,” Rose said shaking her head. “The neighbors’ll think we’re weird.”
“How do they think we’re weird?” Joe asked.
“You have six kids in one family,” said OLeif. “That’s weird enough for most people.”
“Besides, Mom,” said Carrie, “with put-put, it’s the same thing every time. It never changes, so it’s not very interesting.”
“Well, you know what, Carrie,” said Joe, “you’re always the same Carrie, and we don’t get bored with you.”
“Am not the same,” said Carrie. “I just dyed my hair.”
Mom’s ideas would resurface for another time, however, as somehow the conversation drifted into analyzing sermons, which ended in Dad ordering Cecil Whittaker’s pizza for dinner.
And thus ended November.