Too Soon

I don’t know why it’s never happened before in his history of sitting through I’d say about 379 church services in his lifetime, but today, Puck got the hiccups during the sermon.

Rose wrote him a note: “Hold your breath.”

“It’s so nice that I can write him notes in church and he knows what I’m saying now,” she mused later.

And I guess it worked because a minute later, the hiccups ended.

Puck later ran out of church with a piece of fried chicken on a plate, leftovers from the missionary dinner the night before. Always scrounging for further sustenance. He could easily eat double meals a day; just shooting straight up.

Did I mention the snow? For some reason, even though we’re ten days out from Thanksgiving, it decided to snow. I don’t understand. It was sticking to the trees in healthy doses of powdered sugar by the time we arrived at the Big House.

Lunch was on Rose. During a recent excursion to Hermann, she had purchased five packs of various sausages for the family. I’m not a huge meat person in general, but those were some good links. Joe was particularly fond of the “caramelized gorgonzola”, although I’m pretty sure he changed it later to “caramelized pear and goat cheese”.

“So, Adel … any dessert?”

There was none.

So while Mom and Dad napped, Joe and Francis took Linnea-Irish to Schnuck’s for various baked goods and to AutoZone for parts. Francis, in a constant effort to improve “Puddle Jumper”, had added new fog lights.

A little “Kath & Kim” and podcast recordings to bank up our repertoire for future episodes, and the afternoon was almost over.

“Ug,” Carrie groaned. “I hate this weather. November is the worst month in the year. That, and March.”

It was a few minutes later that Mom, smiling from the rocking chair, just couldn’t help herself. “It’s just so beautiful outside! Oh, oh. Sorry, Carrie.”

Then, because we didn’t have enough meat already, Dad and Mom left to pick up 50 chicken fingers from Cain’s. They were good, of course. But 50.

“I’ll be eating chicken fingers for the next three dinners,” Francis said with satisfaction, patting his stomach.

That night I looked out the back patio to judge snow accumulation. I usually check the top of the patio fire grate that Rose bought us years ago. Estimated at two to two and a half inches. Ten days before Thanksgiving. That is just wrong.