A Buried Sleeping Buddha
Thursday, March 31, 2005
It was a morning one might awaken to in the deep south. Strewn across the netting of their bed, early that morning, Collette watched streaks of orange-gold slip through the blinds. She imagined for a moment that the blinds were made of thin teakwood, stained dark, and that the view outside was that of a plantation in Jamaica or in Louisiana before the great Civil War.
Meanwhile, Collette found a brilliant bookmark to set in her Firefox favorites – a daily Aurora Borealis predictor from the University of Alaska. It was excellent to have such a source. Who knew when she might take a trip to Alaska, or if the phenomenon would make its way to St. Louis. Why, the shimmering lights had found their way as far south as Georgia and Arizona in the past, though it was quite a rare occurrence.
The night before, as the warm eighty-one degrees of the afternoon had cooled down, Collette watched clips of Gaslight Square downtown, on PBS – and more magnificent still – a documentary on the archaeological destruction and finds of the mysterious Afghanistan… A thousand-foot sleeping Buddha and a burial trove of crafted gold, larger than King Tutankhamen. Thrilling.
As she watched, Linnea called her.
“Hi, Collette,” she said in her cute “baby” voice.
“Hi, hon,” Collette was engrossed in her program.
“Did you see a lot of lightening?”
“Yeah, I did on the way home. You can probably still see it outside.”
“OK. Is it still coming?”
“I think it might be. I can’t tell for sure.”
“How far away do you think it is?”
“Well, maybe thirty miles or so.”
“I counted one, one thousand, seven times before I heard the thunder.”
“Oh, well I guess it’s farther away then. Don’t worry, it may still come over there.”
“I hope so.”
“Oh, Linnea, you should watch Channel Nine. There’s a program all about archeology in Afghanistan. It’s really cool. They’re finding all this buried treasure. Gold!”
Linnea gasped. “Oh! I want to see it!”
They both shared a wonderment of the things in the ground, the ancient treasures, and the mystery of what happened so very long ago. As young as Linnea was, Collette was proud to see she had such a great interest in the pirates and buried treasures and hidden cities, that she had.
Against the deep blue of the night sky, the tree across the street had exploded into a great round of white blossoms. It was splendid, planted there as it was, quite wonderful to look at. Collette was pleased with its position.
In fact, she was rather pleased with the evening. There had been a fish sandwich for supper and there was promise of rain that night. And one of the tax refund checks had hit the mailbox so there would be more going into savings. It was all alright.
The weekend looked to be busy. That night, Joe and Mom and Dad were at an Eagle Court of Honor where Joe had been asked personally, to be the main speaker. There was madrigal rehearsal and English Country dancing for Carrie-Bri, Joe, and Rose the next morning. Francis was still recovering from surgery, but might feel up to snuff for meeting with the Englishs with Mom and Linnea. Joe was to pack off to Cuivre River that same evening for a Scout camping weekend. Carrie and Rose were scheduled to perform at a madrigal feast at Frontenac that night. Saturday, Carrie and Rose were also to completely create Joe’s corn cob suit for the church skit Sunday morning.
Sunday, aside from the skit and script that Carrie wrote, there would be a cake and punch reception at the new church property. And then Mrs. Lord-Welches, a good old friend of the family, would be coming down from Iowa with her two kids left at home, Sean and Pearl, to visit for the afternoon and spend the night before heading down to Florida early the next morning. Yes, weekends tended to be that busy in April.
“Exciting times,” Mom would say.
She was, indeed, the indefinite Pollyanna of the family.
Meanwhile, Diana had written once again from Wheaton –
“Thank you so much for the Easter gifts!!! They totally made my whole weekend! The flowers are decorating our door and my desk…
I have been so busy this past week and a half. Just tonight I finished the last revision of my first article for the Record, our college newspaper…
…I’ll write more soon.
Love,
Diana *a budding journalist*”