The Spoils of Grandparents
El Oso decided to pull a Puck on me that morning: tray filled with breakfast-y grub in bed. The difference would be the ability – and permission – to use the stove. Therefore eggs were an addition. Crackers hopped up on the covers to see what that was all about, sniffing out the yogurt and honey. She was not welcomed.
Puck was ready for pick-up, middle morning, arms filled with more spoils: grandson gifts: a fresh stock of little candies for his gumball machine, boxes of animal crackers, and a small yellow squishy cat he had decided to name Junior. Mom and Carrie were just leaving: antiquing in the city with Rose for lamps and shelves which equated a sticking-out-tongue-emoticon from Rose when I asked her about it over text. Dad had plans to take Mom to their favorite steakhouse in Columbia, after.
Then there was the Silverspoon’s: a gold hula-hoop for Puck, Izzy organizing new camera equipment on the kitchen counters, cutting wood in the garage with Theodore while the remaining four shopped Sam’s for panini and guacamole ingredients, a box of chocolate donuts for me. “As long as it doesn’t effect you, I would buy you anything,” Gloria assured my dessert selection. Why do people complain about their mothers-in-law again?
After El Oso’s sandwiches, Theodore and Izzy carved up more wood in the basement, garage. Puck worked on his own project, stockpiling blankets and pillows in the basement stairwell, running back upstairs with a blanket cape. “Ever get the feeling you’re being watched by an alien?!” “No, I can’t say that I have,” Theodore replied. Puck ran back down to attack the stack of cushioning on the steps. “Oh, the sweet smells of memories!” He hung out in this nest for awhile. Then Theodore did our taxes. Maybe we’re all a little spoiled around here.
The temperature was already dropping in the late afternoon. You could feel it, floating in on the gray sea up top, little wind in the dead trees. El Oso hunkered down behind his laptop: Theodore’s business website. Gloria took Puck shopping for a soda stream, playing zombies and big bad wolf at the park, and then with Tiaan’s sisters up at church. I noted the bronze medal match loss across the pond, making tentative plans for the spontaneous road trip to Florida, mid-March. “So, Puck, would you miss me if I went to Spring Training in a couple of weeks?” I had asked him earlier. He looked up from cow herding on my laptop with an air of business behind his hazel eyes. “How long would you be gone?” “Maybe a week.” He went back to his cows. “Eh, naw … not much.” “You wouldn’t, eh?” He sighed a little, clicking methodically on the keyboard. “Sometimes you don’t appreciate someone until they’re gone.” On that philosophy, I double-checked hotel prices in Jupiter. Make that motel.