P always has a plan. Every second of every day, the kid has a plot prepared and can typically be found spewing instructions and cuing cards.
One day in Kansas, he beckoned me outside, carrying a Root Beer bottle he'd dug out of my mother's fridge. There was twine in his other hand and a plan on his lips. I was instructed to tie a trailer to his John Deere and then climb aboard with BB. P was taking us on a jaunty ride to a picnic spot. He hopped in, drove us around in circles (while Grams snapped a shot - thanks, Mom!) and then up and down the drive, eventually landing at a little table set out front. There he slid into his seat and pretended to sip his beverage, uttering, "Oh, Mama, isn't this a lovely day for a picnic?"
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