Think, Work, Think
Dreams composed of audience participation air-ballet, endless public metaphors regarding “uncomfortable” colors and tin foil…
Puck was busy sketching dungeons and water-slides with purple pencil before breakfast, still clothed in his red footies, which are becoming too small.
“Crackers. Eat your food before it goes to waste,” Puck commanded from his throne.
Crackers… didn’t seem too interested. Lately she’s been taking on the habits of her sister, Stinkerbelle. The feisty bones have emerged.
Meanwhile, I took on a container of cold refried beans for breakfast.
I think I won that battle pretty well.
Sometimes I get the idea of un-pampering myself. I’ve always hated that word – pamper. Just the sound of it is annoying to me for some reason. But I figure cold refried beans is about as Martin-Luther-torture as I’ll allow myself before eight o’clock in the morning.
The Bear, alas, sledgehammered by another migraine, completed one grand impending project and returned with a sparkling water for a deep nap prior to completing another long work-day.
Meanwhile Pumpkin shared some of Puck’s cheese, tucked blanketed in his lap, over his lunch creation I dubbed – “The Land of the Rising Moon” – which is basically any bowl graced with the vertical presence of a small white flour tortilla.
And I typed-copy-pasted like a mad woman on the couch in my “Thinking Clothes”, those scrubby stay-at-home duds when work really needs to be done – usually track shorts over black leggings and a seven year-old t-shirt. A fine recipe for excellence in think-tanking.
“Yuck,” Puck announced later, pressing his hand on my back late in the afternoon. “Your shirt is wet.”
“My hair is still wet from my shower, bud.”
“No… That’s yucky woman sweat.”
The Sage.
Later, when I was becoming annoyed with his writing lesson – boys will be boys will be boys – Puck emerged from the other room where he announced to his dad the extent of my irritation.
“I ordered a talk with you from Dad,” the informer announced.
As punishment for being a tattletale, I cuddled him on the couch for six minutes.
“Sing me a song,” I ordered.
“No!”
I tickled him.
“Ah! NO!”
“Then say a poem.”
“I don’t know any!”
“Then tell me a story.”
“A big worm ate up a whole city! The end!” he giggled.
“Puck, If I planted you, would you grow into a beanstalk?”
“No.”
“If I sent you in a rocket ship to the moon, would you become the moon?”
“No.”
“If I wrote you in a book, would you become a book?”
“No…”
Six minutes passed quickly.
The Bear – always pushing through the stack – wrapped up his projects, trouble-shot some church computer issues for Ruby and Ethiopia, and rounded out the evening with language studies. Then he sang the Greek alphabet to the tune of “ABC’s”… several times.
“What’s really goofy is listening to thirty guys sing it together in a classroom.”
“Did they all think it was funny?”
“Well, I did.”
And for me – a little more Korea-pasta-Italian-cactus.
Quote for the Day
“Suppose you did [remove Christianity], what would become of the world then?… I might clothe all nature, not in words of green, but in garments of sombre blackness; I would bid hurricanes howl the solemn wailing – that death-shriek of a world – for what would become of us, if we should lose the gospel? As for me, I tell you fairly, I would cry, “Let me begone!” I would have no wish to be here without my Lord; and if the gospel be not true, I should bless God to annihilate me this instant; for I would not care to live if ye would destroy the name of Jesus Christ.”
– Charles H. Spurgeon, Sermon: “The Eternal Name”