A Whole Mess of Things

Wednesday, November 17, 2004

Wednesday was the night for the symphony and Collette was excited to attend. It had been two years since she had come, which was to another St. Louis Youth Symphony performance, like the one she would come to on Sunday. The last time, a magnificent Asian violinist had played a fiery concerto of some length. He was amply rewarded with whistles, applause, and even several floral bouquets (geared toward the masculine appreciation). Afterward, Diana, in her full black dress, drove them over to Chesterfield Valley for shakes. Joe and Curly also accompanied them. It was there that they had run into Pastor Ham and Mrs. Ham, the winter before they left for Chicago, to plant a new church. Collette was surprised to realize that he remembered both OLeif and Curly from three years before.

But anyway, storms and rain were scheduled for the week and Collette was all too happy to be a part of it. After studying all of her psychology and Russian history, she would clean the kitchen of OLeif’s mess of biscuits and gravy. (Somehow the boy managed to make an amazingly grand mess of things before leaving for work, just running out of enough time to clean.) Oh well – her bear made up for it in other ways. She still had plans to buy him a nice sunny yellow tie and a ruby red collared shirt for Christmas, despite his wonderful skill for mess-making.

Besides, he had done well to remember to purchase more stamps at the post office the previous morning, and did well with a grand selection of weather formations and cloud patterns in the post office’s new cloud stamp collection. Joe would surely love them if he could look them over before they went to send off the remaining wedding thank yous. OLeif had only eight left to write.

The morning was already beginning to wane at not even ten o’clock. With daylight’s saving time already past since October 31^st, the sun began to set quite early, especially with the clouds out and about on such a fine day. Collette worked on breathing deeply as she watched them grow dark and light in the folds. For two five-minute sessions daily, she would do so to bring more oxygen to her thoughts, and relax. She figured that even the Eastern mystics had something right when it came to the form of breathing. It likely aided one’s health more than hindered it.

She stared at “Starry Starry Night” (as Dad always called it) above her head on the wall. She thought the print rather looked more like chalk and colored oils had fashioned it there, rather than paint. It had such a soft appeal to it, a grainy swirly look, unlike the usual substance of paint. She wondered what Van Gogh had been thinking as he shaped the colors with his brush. Perhaps very few thoughts passed through his mind. Maybe it went blank with dreams and unconscious patterns, much like Collette’s would, when creating something new. She studied the scraggly dark bush-like trees to the left of the portrait, as if a young Irish maiden’s black hair had flown by in the night as she raced against the silent wind to the underworld beyond the hills, away from the silent teeming magnificence of the celestial beings above her.

Her lungs filled with air again, as she sat in front of the screen, typing her thoughts into the pages as quickly as they came. Her black pants waited on the ironing board, her text lay open on the table, and she would have almost, almost, rather closed the shades and crawled back into bed for another hour. The sun would always wake her, no matter how tired she was.

Meanwhile she received a phone call from home, saying that Snuggles had indeed returned after running off into the dark wet the previous night. He had a peculiar habit of slipping off into the darkness and coming home the following morning without a care in the world for his breakfast. He was the most docile and loving cat, and would always put up with the shenanigans of Pumpkin the kitten. His ears had taken several tooth marks already from that dastardly mischievous black kitten. So had the dog…

The sun attempted to stream in a spell through the bedroom window. Collette was not pleased with its efforts, and would shut the shade if she hadn’t the need to go out to the kitchen and clean up and fix lunch for them both for Thursday.

As she wrapped up the biscuits, she thought how lovely a walk would be then, a brisk run through the park on a crisp November day of half rain, and half shine. Afterward, she would jog to the fuel station for an apple pie in a crinkly waxed wrapper. It sounded so good right then, but that was out of the question for the day. Primarily, the reason she would rather not, was the prospects of crossing a relatively busy intersection. But when spring came, she might change her mind during the early part of the morning. And OLeif would come as well. Once her degree was finished…

Once, she had walked down the velvet stairs of that grand Symphony hall herself, to receive an award, a blue ribbon, among thirty-four other students, for her artwork set to music. She had been only seven then and it was such a special time. Diana had been there with Mom and Dad and the grandmas. They had served little party sandwiches, cookies, and punch. And there had been a grand ceremony. She even shook the conductor’s hand, although she was so preoccupied with the grandness of it all, that she had forgotten to turn her head toward the camera.

Her picture had been of a Mexican blanket with squares telling the story of a siesta and fiesta in bright colors and happy people. She remembered how Dad had received the call of her win that cold January (when he had worked at home) and had called Mom while they were at Great Grandma Combs’ house that afternoon. Mom was so proud, and Collette, although she likely did not fully understand, was very happy with it all.

The sun broke full that hour and the cold blue skies of the heavens were spread nearly clean as the late autumn sunshine spread over St. Louis. But Collette concluded that it was the good type of sun, the sun one would see on a Saturday morning on top of Cahokia Mounds. That was a good type of sun. Like last fall when they had all gone up there, including OLeif, and watched the film before they hiked to the top.

The gift store had provided a turquoise piece for Rose and a bull-roarer for Linnea. It was a tough decision between that and the tom-tom. Then up there the wind whipped and the autumn trees grew orange and red by the river. She could almost see the religious ceremonies taking place by her with medicine men and furs and feathers and potions. Up above, eagles flew off to the river banks and the sun glinted off the Arch.

Lunch had followed on the picnic tables down in the valley with bratwursts and gooey butter cake, while Joe and Carrie threw Frisbees with everyone but Mom and Collete eventually joining in. Before crossing back over the bridge, a barrow of pumpkins was purchased at a country fair where the traffic director, (a boy likely of Carrie-Bri’s age), with bright red hair, stood atop a hay square and directed traffic while dancing to the music coming from the bluegrass band nearby. It was an object of hilarity, and as the green slug thundered by, seven faces laughed at him pressed up against the windows. Even Dad couldn’t help but get smile lines as he drove past.

Collete could not wrap her mind around the studying that day, nor had she been able to the whole week. Other things transpired, and she would rather be dealing with that, than focusing on the daily text before her. She would still not leave for three hours, and she rather hoped they would go quickly.

She wanted to learn Italian. She would love to accomplish such a thing. If only she could make sense of it all. She would Italianize everything in her home, even paste the new Italian words over English words in board games, draw flashcards to review daily, scour the dictionary, and only when she knew it well, could she think to turn to French. Perhaps a long stay around Italians in the city at The Hill would do her good. And she would not leak it to anyone what she knew, she nor OLeif, until necessary. They would teach what they could to their children to help them use it as an opportunity to help others and perhaps in their work or abroad, mission work perhaps… the ideas sprouted the new shoots when it was discussed for the first time between them in March of that year.

She would have gone to get the mail. She had been taking a break to read “Little House on the Shores of Silver Lake”, one she had not read in ages, coupled with reviewing her exam material for Monday. That was when the mail truck came; she was always hesitant to venture out. She figured that someone might eventually talk to her, a person of a seedy character maybe. But today, the coast seemed clear once again, and she slipped on her shoes to walk across the street. However, upon having arrived at the stairs, she saw a small group of college-age boys huddled near the boxes. Immediately she turned around (after a quick peek down the other side of the street, to act as if she were only checking for something else), and like a frightened bunny, climbed back up the stairs to the loft. Thus her imagining came back to her once again…

… as she thought it out in her mind, how she might be in hiding for a spell in this apartment, waiting for things to die down a bit, for the duchess’ temper to cool and subside completely, before heading back out on the mission handed to her from a lower court, contrary to the duchess’ wishes. She was in danger now. Those mountains beyond were her hope. Meanwhile, she lived comfortably, but could not venture out in the daylight, unless a ready escort was immediately available. She would be escorted early in the morning with a small group of ladies and a gentlemen or two from the lower court. Her identity would remain unknown (mostly) to those gathered, and her plans were to be presented as only accompanying for the report to be sent back on the royal wedding there, and nothing more…

Collette liked to hear of Laura and her grand adventures in the woods, and prairies, and towns… she read of the lake and how she and Mary and Carrie had gathered “flaming red tiger lilies” and purple bean pods with which to fill a pitcher for Ma… and how the stars gleaned the skies with their sickles of constellations and gems. It must have been breath-taking to view such a night sky. Collette would like to see such a thing some day, out in the wild, away from civilization. Perhaps one day in the Outback, or Colorado, maybe even up in French Canada, or further, to where the Northern Lights danced and quietly spread their colossal stripes across the heavens. One day, she thought to herself, one day…

Her thoughts trailed to the night before, when Mom and Dad drove her home and had discussed Thanksgiving with her, and had given suggestions on how to equally spend the day with both sides of their family, now that she and OLeif were married. Advice from parents was always a good thing, and Collete was glad for it. Dad walked her up to the apartment, and being the good big bad dad (as Carrie always put it) that he was, he checked up on her healthy and non-healthy habits.

‘Are you eating well?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Collette thought about it a second, “soup, meat, apples, you know…”

“And are you exercising?”

“Well, toning, and…”

“Toning won’t help you know…”

“I know. I mean, I just do that on the side. I want to run while I’m at the house, but I just haven’t had time because it takes too long to do math with the kids.”

“Well, we’ll just have to start giving them time-limits then. They can’t be taking up that much of your time.”

And then he hugged and kissed her goodnight before he left, like he always did with all the kids. Collette always liked the fact that Mom and Dad did not change with herself and the rest of the kids, as they changed. They adapted their method of instruction and advice as they grew older, and had to learn things on their own, but they never changed in being good, fun, and loving parents. They would always be there for them, and that gave Collette more comfort than most things.

Collette spent several minutes freshening up for the evening, as Mom and Francis and Linnea would be there before long to pick her up. She did hope that Carrie-Bri would decide to come along after all, as well as Rose, for Eve and Annamaria would miss their old friends’ company. The Gentles and Snicketts had been best-friend families for a long twenty years or so, before Diana and Collette had been born, precisely five weeks apart, on Wednesdays. They had done practically everything together, and Collette hoped that even at those later ages when things were so busy, they would never forget how to play and be best friends together, as she and Diana still were.

I must remember to give Mrs. Gentles the check tonight, she thought to herself. Mrs. Gentles had been so thoughtful to remember to purchase tickets for them for Sunday, and she was able to do so for nine dollars, in place of the twelve it might have cost, if Collette was not a student. She looked forward to hearing the lovely music both evenings – twice in one week, was quite nice.

The sun streamed lower through the bean pod tree on the southern window. But the air was not cold outside and she was sure the pods were happy to dance that afternoon in the warm winds, had they been with thoughts, as she once used to pretend, and half-believe, of inanimate things – stuffed animals, bowls and cups, Swiss Family Robinson, yellow and pink, or chocolate sugar wafer cookies, whatever might be lying around. Its feelings might surely be hurt, if unnoticed too long. Collette attempted to show equal attention to all. It had been a silly way of thinking, she supposed, but then again, she enjoyed it while it lasted, and was at rare times still tempted to do so, under certain particularly potentially lonely situations for the object in question.

She began to rather wonder why she was always so tired lately – there seemed little need of that. She had been in bed late the night before, waiting up for OLeif until he returned. However, he was not in till one, and she had finally given up and gone to bed before she had a chance to heat his soup and talk over the day with him. But still, she had had eight hours of sleep, which was plenty, and certainly all she needed.

Her thoughts drifted to Hungary, that warm summer in Budapest three years ago, with Diana and the mission team from her church. And then Austria for a night – what a time that had been. It was fully recorded now, from what she could remember, as she had typed it all up in a journal for the team that fall. But she still thought on it often, and usually she remembered first how brave Diana had been about everything.

Collette had been dreadfully shy then, not just quiet as she was now, but fully shy and alone. She remembered a conversation she and Diana had that first night in Hungary, Sunday, July 1^st. They had come back from their night walk about the city, the open air concert in Hero’s Square, with a large pretzel-like sugar bread, and the tram ride home. They were both dreadfully tired and Diana seemed to be becoming almost frustrated with Collette. Collette could not quite figure out why, but the answer was coming. Collette had just finished her shower and Diana was in the bathroom, washing her face…

“It was great tonight, wasn’t it?” Diana asked enthusiastically.

“Yeah, it was a lot of fun,” Collette had replied, not so enthusiastically.

“You know,” Diana dropped the bomb, “I just wish you’d talk. I feel like you’re following me around everywhere all the time. Why don’t you go off yourself and start to talk with people?”

Collette sat there, a little crushed. She knew Diana hadn’t meant to be hurtful, but it struck her then, through what Diana had said, that it was true. She was skittish and shy and likely even appeared rude. She sat down on the bed, facing out the open window to the night skyline of Budapest.

Diana heard the silence, and came out of the bathroom. “Collette?”

Collette choked back a couple of tears. It wasn’t because Diana had told her that; it was more that it was true and she wanted, for the first time, to get to know the people there, and to make friends, to venture off and be friendly.

“Collette?”

“Sorry. Yeah, you’re right.”

“I’m sorry, Collette,” Diana paused. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I just want you to not be shy and to have fun. This is a great opportunity. I don’t want you to miss it.” She paused again, realizing that Collette was still struggling. “How can I help, Collette? What can I do?”

“You do help me,” Collette answered slowly. “You helped just by telling me. I want to be nice to everyone, and friendly.”

“You are, Collette. People want to know you; they really do.”

“It’s just that I see you out there. You’re confident and everyone likes to talk with you. You don’t seem to ever have any trouble socializing.”

“I just like to talk to people. You will too. I’ll try to help you more this week. We’re going to have an awesome time here. It’s already been great this weekend.”

“You’re right,” Collette watched the night sky as Diana went back to brush her teeth, “It is great. And I am going to enjoy it.”

Oddly, from that point on, the deep-seeded shyness in Collette began to unroot. Slowly, and little by little, it began to leave. She never forgot that night and how Diana had helped her. She would never be starkly changed, but something was different inside her. Even by the time they arrived back in St. Louis, eight days later, something had changed permanently, for the better.