Wave it In
Sunday, April 15, 2012
“Did you hear an updated forecast?” Collette asked OLeif.
In his best movie trailer voice…
“Dangerously rainy!”
He followed this with several rousing choruses of “What do you do with a Drunken Sailor?”.
The ride in produced the usual sorts of interesting questions from the tike in the back seat…
“Could we drive south like the birds?”
“Sure,” OLeif replied. “Want to do it today?”
“No,” Puck giggled. “Not until my baby brother comes.”
Severe storms were on the charts.
As long as nothing messed with the game, this was fantastic.
Apparently there had been a tornado outbreak in Nebraska and Kansas, according to meteorological reports of the previous afternoon.
Collette toted two plastic boxes stuffed with chocolate-caked-sprinkles-krispy-chocolated-caramelly things to church that morning, on her snack duty of the season. Sugar for 33.7% of the population stashed under the age of ten. Or whatever. Hyper explosion infusion within eight minute count-down to Sunday School.
Band-aid still on the thumb.
OLeif on the roster for service instrumentals.
Whistling Texan plain wind gusts and sun, dark Cherokee west clouds, prairie peepers…
Back on the ranch…
Plumes of yellow and pink roses climbing the porch.
Potato peelings graced the floor. The counters were shaken down with flour.
“Are those potato pancakes?” Collette asked.
“No, it’s naan.”
The wind was still kicking as OLeif and Puck adjourned outdoors to wait for lunch. OLeif was power-blasting through the last three and a half to four and a half weeks of the semester, still reeling in that deep-sea prized first letter of the alphabet.
Joe was back from the Sunday session of Matthias Lot church gatherings, after hitting a billow of caution road crew work tape on the highway.
“What kind of pancakes are those?” Linnea asked, walking through.
“They’re not pancakes.”
Joe perused tornado risk sheets. 5%. Not bad. This led, inevitably, to passed-around quotes from “Night of the Twisters”…
“Hey, Norm, these instruments don’t lie.”
“Yeah? Well neither do I.”
“But I would ride with you Dan. If you had a Harley. Va-room.”
“It’s anticyclonic!”
“I know it’s the wrong time of year. I know it’s too cold. And I know. I just saw it.”
“What is that?” Francis asked skeptically, pointing to the grill.
“Naan,” Carrie retorted.
“So… what’s the main course?”
“Your foot.”
– Carrie tore a chunk off one of the breads. –
“Try some, fatty.”
During the meal, including some sort of Midwest staple pork cutlets-salad-homemade mashed-potatoes-gravy, Carrie described Grewe’s scholastic presentations at the community college…
“Well, one of them was on torture.”
“Like all the way back to scary church tortures,” Rose added.
“Yeah, and when I asked if the other students liked it, she said, ‘Yeah. I mean, it was really quiet when I finished it.’ Then another time she gave a presentation on what she wanted to be when she grew up. And she said, ‘A speed bump’.”
The skies were steadily darkening, contrasting the green.
Dad and Joe discussed Philmont.
First pitch rang in at 1:15, despite an inclement potential of the afternoon.
And as usual, no one could agree on what to do for the afternoon.
Union Station was a “ghost town”, according to Rose, not a good place to hang around, despite the allure of fudge and Cards jerseys. Carrie cited traffic from the game.
Rose expressed concern about the fatness of her newest cat.
“Does anyone have some SOAP?!” Puck shouted up from the basement bathroom.
Rose and Linnea took Puck outside for badminton as Carrie walked past with Earnest…
“Wasteful bunny,” she chastised him. “Wasteful bunny.”
Collette and the boys joined the game for about an hour, slipping around generously in her red Chucks, after Rose retired to accompany Mom and Carrie-Bri to the consignment shop to hunt up some treasures. Plans had finally been resolved…
“We’re going to have a custard night,” Mom explained, “and because it is the 100th anniversary since Titanic sank, we’re going to watch ‘A Night to Remember’.”
The Snicketts needed little reason to celebrate – or remember – anything.
Nearing four, as Dad was preparing to take Linnea-Irish and Puck to Weldon Spring Park, he received concerning news from Martha. Great Uncle Fred was in the hospital in Independence with a severe case of pneumonia. At 86 years of age, this was worrisome information.
When everyone had made their way back, the rain still hadn’t spilt. The boys seemed disappointed with the outcome, which wasn’t always surprising. Although the day still hung gray and green. And quiet.
Except for the wind, rolling through the bush, the trees and flowers.
A garden tucked in a corner of the world.
Linnea was given her first “driving lesson”. Dad let her pull the car into the garage.
“That was terrifying!” she announced, after the fact.
And a sweet Cards victory.
Dad treated them all at Culver’s – everyone but Carrie who had a sinus headache and Joe who was out with Pooch. As they sat together in the corner booth, Puck requested, in consideration of his upcoming birthday, for an increase in bedtime…
“Naw…” OLeif replied with a silly face.
“Pleeeease!”
“Tell you what. I’ll let you stay up till five.”
“Five!” Puck grinned huge. “And what about the year after that?”
“Six.”
Huge eyes…
“And after that?”
“Seven.”
“And after that – forty-five!”
“What time is his bedtime now?” Francis asked.
“Seven.”
As they departed, the rain had finally just begun to fall.
It came down heavier as OLeif ran in for some groceries.
He returned with a dozen red roses and various other sundry foliage for his wife.
Sweet man.
Back home, curtains of rain fell out the window. Puck slipped himself between the curtains above his parents’ bed.
“I’m watchin’ the thunder,” he explained. “Come join me, Mama.”