The Boat Guy

When Bill and I got back from our walk this morning, Mom was sitting in her wheelchair, staring out the dining room window. She glanced over her shoulder at us as we came in from the garage.

“Oh, you’re back,” she commented absently.

“Yup, and ready for a cup of coffee,” I said. “Do you want one?”

“Sure, that would be nice,” she muttered absently, continuing to gaze out the window. “So, did it rain last night?” she asked, turning the Red Menace left and heading back to her loveseat.

I stopped in mid-pour and looked through the kitchen doorway, across the dining room and out the big picture window at the rain puddles that had pooled on our patio, up and down the sidewalk, and in the street beyond.

“Weren’t you just looking out the window?” I asked as I finished pouring.

“Yes,” she mumbled, plopping down on the loveseat and grabbing the TV guide.

“Did you not notice the puddles all over the street and in our yard?” I asked, placing her coffee on the end table.

“I saw that there was wet stuff around,” she replied, fiddling with the remote by cranking up the volume so that “Come on down” reverberated throughout the house.

“So why would you ask me if it rained when it was obvious that it did?” I said, raising my voice over the manic screams coming from the Price Is Right audience.

“Because,” she replied, picking up her coffee mug and blowing delicately across the surface of the steaming liquid, “you never know. It could have been a water leak or someone could have left their hose on for too long.”

“Oh? So that it overflowed into our backyard? That seems a little farfetched,” I said, shaking my head as I walked back into the kitchen for my own cup of coffee.

“Well it’s a good thing that boat guy didn’t think like you,” she huffed, cranking up the volume a couple more notches.

“Boat guy?” I shouted from the kitchen. “What boat guy?”

“You know, the one that built the boat with the animals. Moses.”

“Noah!” I yelled.

“Yes. Moses,” she called out.

I marched back into the room, picked up the remote and turned the volume down on the TV. “Noah,” I repeated. “You mean Noah and the ark.”

“Okay, him. Noah, Moses, six of one, seven of another. At least they paid attention to the weather,” she huffed, grabbing the remote and cranking the sound back up.



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