The mystery as to “why none of those Fulmer kids are married yet”, came and went about as often as the front door swung open and shut. We finally cast it up to Daddy and Mama that perhaps if they’d make life a little less exciting and pleasant at home, then it’d be easier to get rid of us. They didn’t, and we continued on as we had been all this while.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
It’s cold in my room. I went out of it to use the bathroom and as I entered the bathroom I saw a cricket on the floor. I thought about the cricket the whole time I was in there.
“Dear Little Cricket, what are you doing in here?
What lead you from the door to standing here on the bathroom floor?”
I washed my hands and picked up a towel from the floor. That towel has laid there as a rug for days. I kept saying I’d pick it up and do a nice little clean up job. Finally I just did pick it up and took it outside on the back porch to shake it out.
“Dear Little Cricket, I act on the sly…I ‘ll pick you right up and take you outside.”
I’d come back in and put the rug in the dirty clothes. I don’t know why I was telling the cricket I’d put him outside though, for as I was saying those words I was getting up from just having dropped him square in the trashcan. Well, it was cold outside, and he would have been stepped on on the floor…What else was I to do? Walking back to my room, I continued my rhyme, which I was beginning to become quite fond of.
“Poor Little Cricket, now here is the thing – ” I said, opening my room door, but instead of finishing it I screamed and jumped, for I met a figure standing behind the door that hadn’t been there when I left. I threw my arms around the figure and tackled a laughing Merria onto the bed, squeezing her very hard and laughing and screaming at the same time. She pulled my hair and I squeezed her harder.
“Oh Merria! You wicked child! You should be horsewhipped! How could you do that to me?” Merry, who was laughing, said,
“I was WONDERING when you were finally going to come in here. I’ve been waiting and waiting.”
Saturday, January 18, 2014
Pooh-Hah-Zell. That’s what I call Daddy sometimes. Poor Chree is sick with the flu and sits, rocking with folded hands. Folded hands on his red checked flannel shirt. Anne, Merry and Mel sit on the couch. Anne is looking at an online catalogue of dresses; Merry is lying on Mel. They’ve been looking through Milly’s baby book. Abe lies in front of the fire on his back, holding his iPeril and listening to something. Dawn is absorbed in counting change as she stands behind the stove, and Daddy crosses one foot over his knee, laying his Bible on top. We’re getting ready for devotion. Mama flits in and out, then in again and sits down.
“You can put your feet in my lap,” she tells Dawn, who is already propping them up there.
“My goodness, Anna Grace’s birthday is less than a month away!” Said Chris.
“When are we going to have her birthday?” Daddy asked.
“We may do it the 15th or 16th,” said Mama as she scratched some writing in her book.
“I’m leaving on the 14th I think.” Everyone sounded surprised.
“Nicaragua,” Said Chree. “Spanish language school with Timothy.”
“I guess we could have it on the 14th before you leave.”
“Oh, it’s the 15th. I think,” Amended Chree.
It’s a cozy evening. I’m warm and sleepy. Sleepy because I’ve been losing sleep over That Boy. I’ve been waking up and thinking – fearing, rather – that I’ve been messaging him all night. In my sleep I see, to my chagrin, that I’ve messaged him 41 times in a row, always telling him that I would stop messaging him. But then I’d think of something else to say and not be able to stop myself from typing and sending it…In my half waking sleep, I’ve sensed his acute annoyance at my continual stream of missives…He grudgingly replies and I never stop. I WANT to quit, but every time I’d check to see what I’d written, I’d already sent another one! Thank goodness it’s just a dream, but it’s a terrible feeling of no self -control. I’ve a mind not to write him back for a week, just for good measure.
Dawn had walked into the living room earlier this afternoon eating a shrimp. She always sucks on the shrimp (and has since she was a little girl) to get the juice out. Abrum was lying on the floor and jumped up as she came in.
“Lo DAWNKULD,” Abe said, perching two hands on his hips and tucking his chin to his neck. He says her name slowly at first, holding out the Lo, then says Dawnkuld fast. Every time. Standing close, he bent toward her and said abruptly, shaking a finger at her, “Lo DAWNKULD, Were you sucking on that shrimp?!” Dawn paused and cocked a brow at him, then said slowly,
Abe let out a long yowl of laughter, throwing his head back, saying he’d never seen anyone eat shrimp that way before. She tackled him to the couch amid his yelling things about shrimp and wrestling with her feisty resistance. For the rest of the evening he teased her about shrimp. Nearly every reference he made to her alluded to it.
January’s fires burned through snow and sunny days and many a pause found me scribbling questions and thoughts into my journal about John Barrett Watson. It seemed my cocoons of questions never would transform into the beautiful winged answers I was dying to see. Most of my concerns could be summed up by the following entry.
Tuesday, January 21,2014
I fear that, already, while I’m beginning to be deeply interested and attracted he may be coming to the conclusion that, (as he says it) Pigs will Learn to Scuba Dive” before we’ll ever go on an ice cream or coffee date.” Oh well. Se la vie. Jerry’s was nice. That whole days was splendid. Absolutely beautiful. I keep trying to call to memory every glance and word and smirk or his. Sometimes I can see it clearly and hear his voice. I get warmly happy all over. But I wonder, as I’m stewing over Him, what is he thinking? Anything? Nothing? Come, John, where are your thoughts?
Abe telling her Something Important, while Dawn holds the reflector. We were experimenting with its effect on photos one Sunday afternoon.
Jay came home for a visit that January. Much to our happiness.
He has a sweet smile, but Chris was pinching me.