The World of Puck
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Stalling at breakfast…
“I just have one question to say to you, Mama… Could I bring some books to church tomorrow? You don’t want me to be making more ‘french’ [fringe] and getting bored, do you? You wouldn’t want me to be bored.”
Calvin.
Sometimes meals were more like a circus of the brain…
“So,” Puck resumed with all his Kindergarten pomp. “Let’s finish our discussion. Why is nothing better than to cry?”
“I don’t think I ever said that…”
“But why is it better to cry?”
“Sometimes it’s good to cry…”
The day was much cooler. More wind. Gray. In the night, well somewhere before 4:14AM, the storm had hit. O, the epic crack of thunder. It was a pleasant wake-up summons. And the rain had come with it, the effects of which still lingered in the morning air.
A loaf of soda bread was put into the oven, bubbling white. It emerged 45 minutes later just in time to cool for lunch…
“Mama? Why is it white?”
“Because I used white flour.”
“Then I don’t think it will taste very good.”
While they waited, further books were un-shelved…
“Mama? You should never bring a banana with you in your backpack to the Butterfly House, should you?”
“I think they would like that, actually. Butterflies love bananas.”
“You mean they would try to unzip your backpack?”
“I don’t think they would have the strength, actually…”
“If you tell them that, they would swirl all over you. Ha ha ha ha ha.”
The questions really never ended. The bread was sliced…
“Delicious, Mama!”
He came over for a hug. Half of Puck’s hugs were just disguises to wipe the crumbs off his face. Collette was convinced. Puck had further thoughts to employ…
“Small mamas that don’t eat their vegetables… when they are little… or their beans… will not win. Their little boys will. Because they eat their beans and obey. But. Their tiny mamas do not win. Little boys win. Understand?”
With the afternoon arrived that special little time called Quiet Hour. Just a bit of quiet and catching up on all documents, which Puck equally enjoyed on his own premises. Sometimes absence did, indeed, make the heart grow fonder…
“DA DA DA DA… PLUNK! DA DA DA DA… PLUNK! DA DA DA DA… PLUNK!…”
“Puck! What are you doing?”
“I’m practicing to be up on stage with Daddy,” came the big grin.
Pop! Goes the Weasel was a possible possibility for the youth talent show. Puck had been working at his cue on the little Hawai’ian ukulele from Grandma Combs. And while he continued with further such pastimes, the first eight of OLeif’s textbooks arrived in the mail and Collette watched the Cardinals honored during a ceremony with the President and his wife at the White House. The wind was also still up and about.
OLeif pulled into the driveway at the later hour of 7:39. His schedule was soon going to tighten with the very first ever three-class semester, one of which would be remote, at least. But before this cultivation of learning would take place, he and Collette spent another evening together over John Adams and a plate of cheeseburgers, of which Collette’s portion had already been consumed during the regular five o’clock dinner hour. It was also the second night in which he was able to wear his hair in a very founding fathers-esque ponytail.