Yo Cocino el Pollo para la Cena
Somewhere in the morning I woke from dreams of high storms on the open sea by grand cruise ship, frightening swells. But no one seemed to mind it.
We got a good deluge last night while the Bear cranked out some hard Gospel through the minor lightening show in the south, following that up with industrial snores.
I forgave him for laughing at my chili.
Mr. Texas.
Thinks he knows better about chili than a St. Louis girl. I cliché-ly protest that chili without beans isn’t chili. Which, I admit, flies in the face of the fact that normally I decline foods of varying textures. So sue me.
When I began reading Dad’s daily devotion to Puck this morning in a raspy voice – somewhere Puck introduced the early autumn cough into the week – he began walking out of the room.
“Not till I’m finished reading, kid,” I stopped him.
His eyes got big…
“But, Mama! I can hear from all over the house! I have very invisible ears!”
He tugged at both flaps for emphasis.
Between “classes”, Puck wrapped up Crackers in a cool morning of blankets and serenaded her with the ukulele. Then I got a Walgreen’s-plastic-ball-launcher shot to the head from a giggling chap…
“Sorry, Mom! I didn’t mean to shoot it at your head! Sorry!”
Isn’t it always an I-didn’t-mean-to?
I continued destroying my wrists through a deep line of 11th century Swiss over that 4.5 hour set of Mr. Rogers interviews for the one o’clock hour, while Puck felt the need to disembowel his entire chest-of-drawers, burying himself in an Everest of dark reds, yellows, blues, and black fabrics.
“Mama?” he inquired sort of out-of-the-blue down the hall. “Do we have any plans for Grandpa’s birthday?”
“Well, that’s five months away, bud…”
“But do we have any plans? Because I think we should get him a Star Trek movie, and some scary movies. And a table that looks nice. And how about a castle, too?”
I’ve been drinking a lot of vinegar lately.
“A lot”.
The Bear noticed my habit, and just laughed…
“You’re kidding. You’re been drinking that? Collette, you could drink whiskey. I know guys who drink hard whiskey and they can’t even take apple cider vinegar.”
I’m not trying whiskey.
Thought of the Day
I’m pretty convinced that adrenaline kills the common cold.
I will experiment with this hypothesis – again – at the ballgame tomorrow.