Whatever You Will

We were already in the gray days of September. Too soon. I’m all for gray skies, as long as we don’t hit winter too soon. I’ve become a much bigger fan of spring and summer in recent years.

Anyway, Curly and Lulu were back in town for a couple of days. Gloria made enchiladas and invited everyone over. Including Gus, my little velvet head – his hair cut has become a bit of a novelty lately – to spend the night, jams and toothbrush in his Star Wars backpack.

El Oso was dazed from another long week of work, sitting next to Theodore in the living room who also seemed tired at the end of another work week.

“Real men doing real work,” Gloria explained.

“Where?” Curly laughed at himself. “Yeah. Back in high school I really did work.”

“You did?” Gloria asked.

“Yeah. I worked at a car wash and you made me do math.”

Appropriate ooohs.

“When’s Ricky coming?” Gloria asked. “Tell him there’s guacamole and enchiladas.”

Rose texted him. “He said, ‘She knows I’m not Mexican, right?’”

When the non-Mexican arrived, he plunked out some Spanish tunes on Curly’s unattended guitar, explaining lyrics as he went.

“You don’t know any Spanish, right? Well … This song … It’s actually an idolatrous song about the Virgin Mary. … But you guys know I don’t believe that stuff.”

While he continued to serenade, Gloria paraded out more treats on the counters, including wares from Soulard: blackberries and black licorice.

By this time, Joe and Jaya had arrived, accompanying Curly and Lulu in the basement with apparently episodes of Anthony Bourdain in South Africa and glasses of red wine for those who would.

After much deliberation, Rose and Ricky settled on “What Dreams May Come” over the upstairs television shortly before ten o’clock, while I finished up the fuzzy game on my laptop – another happy bird win – until it was even more clear that El Oso needed a nap.

We followed each other home under a late night rain shower.