We Were Crazy
Sometimes days run like lists. I know my propensity is to see the world in numbers, in mathematical equations, statistics, charts, etc. And sometimes my brain just runs on auto-pilot, really. Other times, though, they’re just parades of random notes…
- My eyes are a set of regular lint catchers. Every. Doggone. Morning.
- Boiled farm fresh organic eggs, or whatever, taste much better.
- Scam assistance request calls to churches do exist [I knew that]; aka female Baptist preachers don’t exist. Well. Rarely…
- The paper slicer has sort of a farm out in the middle of nowhere at night creaky door to the barn murder sound to it.
- Also, I hate clip art.
Meanwhile, Francis had found an unappreciated return eruption of his Wolff-Parkinson’s disease. During a grueling swim practice, of course. I remember the first time we found out about the condition. Maybe nine, ten years ago…
“Collette, this is weird. Check out how fast Francis’ heart is beating.”
“Come here, Francis.”
Jack-hammer.
Moments later – enough time for his heart to sprint to Panama and back – he was in the ER. Actually, it’s not a huge problem, and rather common. Fortunately for everyone, just about the time they were going to stab him in the chest with a giant needle tank-load of adrenaline, or whatever, [because apparently they had no idea what was actually happening to his heart] it started regulating itself again. I think it was nearing 300 bpm. At least 240. A few tests later, and he was diagnosed.
This being only the fourth episode he has experienced [brought on by the exertion of being in the pool], he tried the blowing on his thumb thing. And when that didn’t work, breathing in some deep gulps of fresh cold night air did the trick.
Of course Francis is never feeling too poorly to forget tormenting his nephew. When Mom called me after eleven, half the conversation was Mom “shouting” in the background…
“Francis! Stop that! Puck is running for his life!”
Days are full for the Snicketts family. News recaps on hearts and teeth, phone scams, preparation for turn-over, hierarchical complications, tedious mathematical equations, volleyball futures, vehicular repairs, dishes and dogs… uncle-nephew wars.
“Hey, Puck…”
Francis aimed the blistering foam machine gun at him. Carrie warned him early…
“Francis, if you make him scream…”
Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow!
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”
Also, Joe was in glasses now. He was looking pretty spiff, and joined Francis in a machine gun war across the house.
“Get out of my kitchen!” Carrie bellowed after them.
Rose joined us at the Silverspoon’s fresh from another long week of work with big changes coming to the offices. She sat down with dinner and a box of Legos with Puck. Joe hopped in with an Ethiopian coffee blend and Carrie with a three-pack of sparkling water.
Everyone seemed to appreciate the luxury of enjoying films in a refurbished room, as opposed to the ripped cushion ancient Ethan Allan affair of our basement back home.
Maine. That family vacation explored three months before my wedding. Carrie had found the recording, and we laughed back the years over Hershey’s and sea salt pita chips. And then various escapades back home. I forget sometimes how weird we actually are. Tears of disbelief poking out the corners of eyes. And not just because it was getting late and we all enjoyed a de-stress. This was some serious ridiculousness. Apparently “we” liked to entertain ourselves by hurling corn cobs at one another in abandoned fields and Russian-dancing psychedelic hypno freak shows. We weren’t the sole culprits, I might add. English and Silverspoon were equally, and avidly involved. We were never really bored.