Fios Con Dios

Today, a kind yet quiet man, who looked like Turtle from Entourage, spent the day with us at Casa Picket hooking up speedy TV and web stuff and magic. It was a tricky business that required a brain bigger than mine and also, the pure bravery of that guy -- Turtle spent hours in the bowels of our house. While down there, I casually kicked boxes of ancient detritus out of the way, shoved plastic crates of haunted house props to the side, handed him a light bulb when none seemed to work, all the while donning my gardening gloves and with a "helpful" child in tow. Turtle was all, "What the eff, man..."

Me and my gloves (a hole in the finger, totally useless) and 5 kids (two spares) split to the backyard where I engaged them in arts and crafts and nature lessons handed out slushies and fruit snacks and like Huck Finn, only uselessly, bragged about the joys of weeding. They played sticky kick-ball, hopped up on straight sugar, with red and blue and purple mustaches. It was a perfect, sweat-free day, and I made a mockery of crab grass. At last.

Meanwhile, Turtle toiled. He ran cables and fiddled with... stuff. He sauntered up and down stairs, casually strolled past the side-cart of a sleeping spot the GFYO has set up near our bed, and he never spoke once. Naturally, I showed him where the bathroom was and how to get a glass of water. Forgot to tell him where the glasses were. Forgot to check if there was toilet paper in the loo. Which there wasn't.

He heard poop jokes and stories about electrified bb pellets in the woods (they weren't; kids are always so thrilled when they think they might, you know, die) and he literally had to walk through Monopoly bits and short drunk people like they were mines. I am not sure why, but I kept my gloves on all day, ran rubber fingers through my hair, left dirt and probably lady bugs behind. We ate frozen pizza in front of him, on plates shaped like monkey's faces. Do you need to pee? I probably asked the GFYO twenty times: No? Then let go, for Christ's sake. A neighbor said, cheerfully, helpfully, There always someone tugging something, right? Right, I said.

Turtle never spoke. I think he blushed a little. Not sure.

Later, much later, like 8 hours later, the Kid got impatient (his own description) and decided to help. Which he didn't...at all...and it became all "oh Turtle, dude, I'm so sorry" and Turtle was all "what the eff, man -- I just want to go home to someplace normal" and I decided it was best to make Sloppy Joes out a giant mound of frozen beef.  (I removed the gloves, FYI.) Spatula in one hand, I carved my way through icy meat and also opened a 16oz aluminum bottle of Miller Lite, wide mouth and screw top no less (a gift from a lovely and always thoughtful cousin-in-law), and thought: today was another great day.

I meant it. It was. It was a great freakin' getting things done being nice Mom weeding and prettying-up and souping-up kind of day. There was no part of this day that sucked. 

Patched in and hooked up, Turtle never said good bye. Later, while hauling a trash can back in from the curb, a butt dangling from my lips all classy-like, I saw the faint sign of his farewell: black smudges from burning rubber.

Godspeed, Turtle. Go with God.

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ALSO: please visit Polite Fictions -- a wikkid cool, hugely fascinating, and communally told story, that turns with every author, and Picket? She wrote there too....