The Usual Gathering

Sunday, January 8, 2012

An eight o’clock rehearsal was on the table: OLeif on violin and mandolin, church at nine, and Sunday school (Revelation) at ten-thirty. While they waited, Puck was busy snipping copious sheets of notebook paper into Indian buckskin fringe…
“I want to do this,” he said importantly, in the middle of his artistic frenzy. “Because. Remember at the museum, those Indian french [fringe]?”
And Roo McCrae cheered from the other side of the platform…
“Come on, OLeif, make it rock!”

Another Sunday afternoon. A box of cold pizza was produced for those who would. Francis immediately took a slice and began heavily salting it from the shaker.
“This isn’t the usual salt we get,” he mumbled.
Collette told Puck he needed another glass of water.
“Mama, I had water in Sunday School.”
“How much?”
“Like, a gallon.”
He then began carefully setting pieces of popcorn on the floor from the couch to the dining room.
“I left tracks of popcorn for you, Uncle Francis,” he informed him.
“Did Linnea tell you her plan for exploring caves without getting lost?” Rose asked, already laughing. “She was going to leave a trail of glow-in-the-dark paint!”
“I didn’t think about it,” Linnea protested, laughing.
Joe was leaving for coffee with Tor and Ultimate Frisbee. The four girls circled in the living room, Mom and Dad napping, the rest of the boys in the basement. A lazy Sunday afternoon, as properly done under any gray circumstances. And Rose was bemoaning not being able to hike twelve miles until her legs fell off because Joe was too busy playing frisbee. Carrie read about histamine allergies on Dad’s Kindle. And someone from Kansas was moving in across the street. Renting.
“Dad? Wanna play with me?” Puck asked from the bottom of the basement steps.
“Sure. What do you want to play?”
“I want to play Laying on the Steps.”
Puck explained the rules of the game.
“Dad. You have to lay down on the floor. You have no choice.”
And Rose told them about exploding over-fertilized watermelons in China.
Puck was doing his rounds…
“Sun, I gave your tiniest bun-bun a little paper treat.”
“What paper treat?”
“It was just one with a number on it. It didn’t matter. Anyway, it already had nibble marks on it from the other bun-bun.”
“Was it a dollar bill?” Francis asked.

So… to Whole Foods in the gray cold.
That came next on the list. All five girls stuffed into Mom’s Fit. Through the woods and over the river. While Linnea was near falling asleep, Rose flicked her wood earring.
“Hey!”
“Well, don’t put targets on your ears,” Rose teased.
Whole Foods was so packed, no one could hardly move at all. It was a sprawl of hipster-hippie-gluten-intolerant mash. A mayhem of organic-seed-free-trade-Inca-wool-vegan-chocolate-cake-peanut-allergy-hunting mob.
“I hate hipsters,” said Rose.
Two hours and a bag of potato starch later…

As the evening began, back at the house for the pork and apple pie crock-pot stew. And a tray of pretzel rolls from Whole Foods. And Francis was out bowling, apparently. Afterwards, as Collette cleared their dishes, she heard Carrie saying something about…
“Give it to me, Rose, or I’ll squeak your eyeball.”
It was time to leave…
“The caravan is departing,” Mom announced, as everyone gathered their things.
Elodie-Rose departed, toting her collapsable laundry hamper, to meet Juliet Tecumseh in The Loop. And the little Silverspoon family back home.