The laughter was almost maniacal.  Would've been if it wasn't coming out of a ten year old boy who looked like a mini Anderson.  "Hush," a leathery skinned man with wild hair and a halloween bone earring warned.  The boy's laughter turned into a smile, white and bright, and sporting some grown up teeth.  "I'm just one of the sherpas," the man said and made a grizzly face at the kid.  This he twisted into a swirling mass of pizza dough-like skin and expression, and landed on incomprehension.  "I never know what they want for snack.  I think I can pick based on mood and then they throw me a curve ball and I don't know what mood they're in."  As the oldest of six, I understood.  "Why don't you just ask?" I asked.  "Because (i)look(i)," he parted Rhododendron and there were a dozen children around a sofa table filled with tea sandwiches and bags of pretzels and chips.  Raisins, cut up canteloupe, and antlers screwed down to the middle of the table.  Little juice pouches and mini water bottles hung on the antlers. 

     "Is that table tipping over?" I asked as the man unparted the bushes.  "It's on a slant.  Everything in there is."