What You do on Cold Midwest Days

Snow was still falling in a light dust that morning, which meant it was cold enough for El Oso to want the Mazda instead of the poorly heated truck. He drove us out to the Big House, snow snakes slithering over the highway in post rush-hour.

Francis and Carrie-Bri argued over textbooks behind two laptops on the couch. The kid might be almost 19, but it still takes two of his three older sisters to make Francis purchase textbooks at a reduced cost. While he was cornered, he tried to cajole Puck into toasting and buttering a set of waffles for him. I think he got as far as the toasting process.

Carrie had ordered the “dumbest game” she’d ever heard of: Bean Boozled. We played a few rounds – yes, Collette Maritime Snicketts Silverspoon played a game – before we grossed ourselves out enough to stop. Puck was ready to quit after round one when he came up with “rotten eggs”. But he persevered.

Sweet-potato-carrot-red-lentil soup on the stove for lunch, handmade by Carrie. Serbian hour on the radio. (Maybe Serbian.) I clipped up my recently-received credit card, shreds of credit card confetti rattling into the trash. The recent national Target compromise had closed our account. Irish was talking about another swing dance and an Old Church slumber party that night. All the snowflakes had melted now, despite the windchill of 8.

Puck raided the winter clothes and accessories closet box in the afternoon, hunting “zombie Minecraft armor” for afternoon escapades. Until he was distracted by 1935’s “A Tale of Two Cities” on the small screen with Mom and Irish. For school.

“I can read that, Grandma!” he scanned the paused black and white frame, carefully. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times … it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness …” said the 21st century first grader in the faux fur vest, ball cap, and knee pads, of the French Revolution. That’s some time barrier crossing right there.

Then he made himself comfortable to watch the show, with a handful of Cheez-Its on the couch. An hour later, he was still watching. But then he saw the cats sleeping on Mom’s and Dad’s bed, and of course had to snuggle with them. I mean, Charles Darnay or sleeping cats?

Movie night had taken a twist into Bollywood and old choir friends. Carrie and I picked up a former soprano and alto in sparkly soft pink Toms in the Wal-Mart parking lot on the way out. Yes, El Oso was the singular male attendee, sitting at Grandma Snicketts’ old white-topped kitchen table with his laptop while five girls laughed over the ridiculous English subtitles of Netflix’s “Tere Naal Love Ho Gaya”, Mrs. Field’s cookies, and root beer. I don’t think it bothered him too much.