I was happily pecking away at my laptop this morning, looking out my front picture window at the assorted chickens pecking around the remnants of my goat-nibbled lilac bush, when Hick plopped down on the long couch.
Let the record show that Hick did not sit in his recliner, nor on the short couch behind me to enjoy the view. The view of the front yard, of course. Not the view of my backside in my pajamas. No. He chose the long couch, the one nearest the coffee table serving as my seat, so he could speak loudly near my right ear. This might explain why no work gets done upstairs in the light of day, but only in my dark basement lair. There is no couch in my basement office.
"I went to the auction last night. I got your mom a cedar."
"She said she wanted one. To roll around in the yard."
Funny how Mom seems to keep these little kernels to herself, only sharing her deepest wishes with Hick. Who knew she wanted a cedar? Is she in training? Like that wrestler, Shute, in Vision Quest, the one who carried that giant tree trunk on his shoulders while ascending from bleacher to bleacher in the football stadium, training to repeat his state championship, unaware of the plans of Louden Swain, aka Matthew Modine, to drop two weight classes to wrestle 168 and challenge him? I could picture Mom, bent over, rolling that cedar all willy-nilly through the trees in her front yard, training, perhaps, to be more assertive the next time somebody dumped a puppy on her property.
"It was a bargain. It only cost a dollar. That's good for a cedar. We'll take it to her this afternoon."
"WHY WOULD MY MOM WANT A CEDAR? Is this like that cake plate business? How you buy her cake plates, even though she's said over and over that she appreciates the thought, but she doesn't have any more room for cake plates?"
"She wants to plant some grass. She's been waiting for a cedar."
"OH! She wants a SEEDER!"
"That's what I said."