hery
the fool
Come on-a my house, my house-a come on!
Come on-a my house, my house-a come on!
The radio in Jim's car hummed a merry tune, the upbeat music permeating through the air and filtering in and out of the plumber's ears like an energizing wave. Coupled with the inviting warmth of the sun's rays on the small, quaint town of Mayfield, the day was looking up to be as perfect as the last. And the one before that. And the one before that, too.
Late mornings had a peculiar quality that left Jim feeling just about as chipper as could be. Fresh after two cups of joe and a plate of eggs (many thanks, Irene), the handyman was energized and ready to go. Being on the job was never anything but tiring, but it was far less dreadful with good company.
The Father was a pleasant fellow, and one Jim got on with quite well. When they reunited on the odd Sunday, it always left him with a sense of serenity that made him question why he and the family weren't regulars. He was a new dad, after all, and it was things like this that families did. He just never brought the idea up to Irene. Would she enjoy the proposition or shy away from the routine? His wife was a kindhearted, obliging woman, but a damn fickle one at times.
Come on-a my house, my house, I'm gonna give you candy!
Come on-a my house, my house, I'm gonna give you everything!
The car, or otherwise Jim's first child, came to an easy stop outside the church. He scanned the car for his things, maintaining a placid expression. This day would be a doozy, especially given the sorry state of the building's pipes. And not of the organ variety.
Ha!
Jim snickered to himself, then seized hold his toolbox, his friend and most frequent occupant of his passenger seat. The well-built man opened the door and stepped out, his boots making a mighty thump on the sidewalk. This sound continued to follow him as he headed inside the church, which reminded him to put on an amiable smile and give the pastor a friendly wave.
"Morning, Father! How you keeping?" he called out, "Hear you've been blessed with a burst pipe or two. Ain't that a bite—didn't even know the place had a lavatory!" He let out a hearty guffaw, then ambled closer toward the sticklike man. Jim's large, burly frame nearly cast a shadow on the man before him. He put a calloused paw on the preacher's shoulder, beaming.
"We'll get that fixed and squared away, Vinny, so rest easy, wouldja?" He looked around the church, his eyes darting to the pew he, Irene, and baby Jerry sat in last. Well, gosh, the kid was hardly a baby anymore now that he thought about it. The big two!
A part of him wanted to retroactively apologize for their child's sudden bout of tears in the middle of sermon, but he was sure the Father would understand, even if he was a different kind of father. That little oopsie was in the past, anyway. It was just a reality of parent life. A slow one, yet exhausting and full of lovely surprises.
"So," he began, one hand on his hip and the other gripping the toolbox, "Let's see the damage, friend."
Come on-a my house, my house-a come on!
The radio in Jim's car hummed a merry tune, the upbeat music permeating through the air and filtering in and out of the plumber's ears like an energizing wave. Coupled with the inviting warmth of the sun's rays on the small, quaint town of Mayfield, the day was looking up to be as perfect as the last. And the one before that. And the one before that, too.
Late mornings had a peculiar quality that left Jim feeling just about as chipper as could be. Fresh after two cups of joe and a plate of eggs (many thanks, Irene), the handyman was energized and ready to go. Being on the job was never anything but tiring, but it was far less dreadful with good company.
The Father was a pleasant fellow, and one Jim got on with quite well. When they reunited on the odd Sunday, it always left him with a sense of serenity that made him question why he and the family weren't regulars. He was a new dad, after all, and it was things like this that families did. He just never brought the idea up to Irene. Would she enjoy the proposition or shy away from the routine? His wife was a kindhearted, obliging woman, but a damn fickle one at times.
Come on-a my house, my house, I'm gonna give you candy!
Come on-a my house, my house, I'm gonna give you everything!
The car, or otherwise Jim's first child, came to an easy stop outside the church. He scanned the car for his things, maintaining a placid expression. This day would be a doozy, especially given the sorry state of the building's pipes. And not of the organ variety.
Ha!
Jim snickered to himself, then seized hold his toolbox, his friend and most frequent occupant of his passenger seat. The well-built man opened the door and stepped out, his boots making a mighty thump on the sidewalk. This sound continued to follow him as he headed inside the church, which reminded him to put on an amiable smile and give the pastor a friendly wave.
"Morning, Father! How you keeping?" he called out, "Hear you've been blessed with a burst pipe or two. Ain't that a bite—didn't even know the place had a lavatory!" He let out a hearty guffaw, then ambled closer toward the sticklike man. Jim's large, burly frame nearly cast a shadow on the man before him. He put a calloused paw on the preacher's shoulder, beaming.
"We'll get that fixed and squared away, Vinny, so rest easy, wouldja?" He looked around the church, his eyes darting to the pew he, Irene, and baby Jerry sat in last. Well, gosh, the kid was hardly a baby anymore now that he thought about it. The big two!
A part of him wanted to retroactively apologize for their child's sudden bout of tears in the middle of sermon, but he was sure the Father would understand, even if he was a different kind of father. That little oopsie was in the past, anyway. It was just a reality of parent life. A slow one, yet exhausting and full of lovely surprises.
"So," he began, one hand on his hip and the other gripping the toolbox, "Let's see the damage, friend."
nine lives