Too Warm

Wednesday, June 1, 2011
In which nothing really happens at all, which is actually nice for a change…

Another day at home.
Puck could be heard at the breakfast table repeating over and over…
“Ten makes eleven, ten makes eleven…”
Who knew…

It was hot.
88.1 at least. Too hot for spring, anyway.
But Collette kept the windows open as long as was tolerably able.

At lunch, Puck was having difficulties making it through an entire plate of chicken in the warm early afternoon. He was busy contemplating unspoken thoughts in his mind.
“I made my words up into a poem, Mama,” he said.
“What is your poem?”
“Jesus loves me this I know. That’s not a poem. Boo-bah, boo-bah, boo-bah. No, that’s not it. What, no! What, no! What no! That’s my poem!”

The rest of the afternoon was good for nothing better than Puck’s bubble bath and the beginnings of typing up a biography of essays.

OLeif was downtown for the evening with his buddies, so Collette folded laundry and watched a little of The Bill Cosby Show while piecing together a set of the Ten Commandments tablets as props for that month’s Vacation Bible School.

“Sometimes when I see heavy traffic coming out of the city in the morning, I am briefly convinced that a giant monster is destroying downtown.”
— OLeif the Skullsplitter Silverspoon