Baber, a Belt-Model, and the Big Bad Dad
Tuesday, February 8, 2005
In Tuesday’s news… It was the ninety-fifth anniversary of the Boy Scouts and Joe must have been feeling it in his blood, for he had just shown Collette the day before – his plan for completing his Eagle Scout, with the final ceremony to be held on his birthday. Collette was proud of his efforts.
Monday had been a day for new projects. And the pope was recovering from the flu.
It began with the creative combined intellects of Collette and mostly Carrie-Bri, in detailing Joe’s and Rose’s costumes for the madrigal dinner. There was gold braid and tassels, chiffon, rick-rack, and sequins to select.
At the house, Carrie busily fashioned a collar of black faux fur on Joe as he stood modeling his new “dress” in the kitchen. While Carrie worked on fastening gold fringe on his sleeves and hem, he stuck a scrap of the faux fur under his nose, puffing out his lower lips to hold it on, in resemblance of the Hitler mustache.
“I wonder,” Collette laughed aloud to Rose, “If Hitler knew he would be remembered in history mostly for his ridiculous mustache.”
Then there was a large gold oak leaf on a chain around Joe’s neck and a black fur cap (actually a Victorian piece of Collette’s, received two Christmases ago from Mrs. Pretzel).
Meanwhile, Rose whizzed once again through the kitchen, stating out of the blue that:
“I should be a belt model – I always get compliments on my belts… actually that would be embarrassing.”
Carrie quickly grabbed her and smashed her down in a seat before she could escape. She whipped off the bill of a baseball cap, stuck it on Rose’s head and began securing two Styrofoam cones to the top, and then draped them in chiffon.
Meanwhile, Collette dictated phone numbers of masquerade/theatrical shops to Rose, who called each place asking for a corn cob costume. Finally, she found a carrot suit available.
By the time Dad had gathered OLeif, Collette, Carrie, Joe, and Rose, for their first computer programming class that night, Carrie had managed to drape the chiffon almost perfectly around the medieval “witch” hat, complete with thick band of gold sequins for framing the face and gold rick-rack edging each layer of the cascading chiffon.
Mom examined the piece, and exclaimed, “Carrie! You should go into costume design.”
“Mooooooooom,” Carrie moaned, “I already found my job.”
Somehow with Carrie it had always seemed to be a toss-up between some sort of career in fashion and beauty, or a high-adventure career, such as para-trooping, sky-marshaling, or, the Secret Service. Of course, Carrie always insisted she would become bored out of her mind if she ever went into the beauty and fashion business, whether she made the big bucks or not. And Collette knew that was true. Even though she had good taste in the fashion world, (which everyone seemed to marvel at, even the moms who saw her latest style at choir every Tuesday), it would blow her out of her mind to spend every day designing and giving advice on stilettos, hair accessories, and eye shadow.
Meanwhile, the introduction to computer programming had gone very well. It was similar to what Dad had taught their cousins, Brit and Judah, seven summers ago, when they lived with them. Brit was now in the field of computer programming himself, and Judah, though in Australia, could still use the skills he learned through Dad.
The whole set-up seemed promising, offering twenty-five to fifty dollars hourly if they were contracted out by the end of the course, one year later.
Of course, Carrie’s ears piped up upon hearing this and she quickly announced to the room as she sat gluing rick-rack to Rose’s headdress that:
“With my looks, I’m sure to get fifty.”
Big dough was always an incentive, but it was more the opportunity to go through a course which would normally have cost thousands, and under Professor Big Bad Dad, who probably knew more than the other million programmers out there combined. Of course, Dad never talked about how much he knew. He was always humble about it, and they never really could figure out how much he knew. There were times they would hardly have been surprised if they found out he was the President of the United States, the President of NASA, and the mastermind of everything secret and awesome beyond public knowledge, all undercover, of course.
But there were other interesting tid-bits as well, such as how many Israeli programmers took notes in Hebrew, which was short-hand, faster than English. And there were many good programmers who earned the big bucks, who had four-year degrees in nothing related to computers. Dad had even come across fellow programmers who were screen-writers, scripts for television and movies, who made good money, as much as he did. And Dad had graduated from Mizzou with a bachelor’s degree in electrical engineering.
But during the course introduction, Dad mentioned their old pal, Baber Wahab, who was involved in similar computer stuff, while as a student at Wash-U. He was young then, those eleven to thirteen years ago, a Pakistani, and a kind young man. He had visited once for dinner and had signed his name and the date on their world map, over Karachi. He had brought gifts for Collette and Carrie – a beautiful bronze tea set from the Middle East, bejeweled – a platter with a long-necked pot in the middle, surrounded by six tiny cups, each with a red or blue stone. Then there were two brightly crocheted doilies of fabulous colors, which they used in plays, decorations in their rooms, and many other things. They still fought over whose was whose.
During the class, however, Dad mentioned that there was a possibility he was now involved in terrorism.
“No!” Collette exclaimed. “Not Baber – he liked us. He was so kind.”
“I know,” Dad said. “But Wahab is a strong name in the terrorist system. I’m not saying he is, of course. But it is a possibility.”
Collette did not like this idea, did not like this idea at all. Even Tuesday morning, she frowned about it still, as she went off to eat her breakfast of strawberries. She didn’t want to think that he was involved in such monstrosities. Even if he had been Muslim, he was kind to them. He had liked America. And so she resolved not to think on it again.
But she would try to dig up the tea set he had given them. She recalled how they had poured grape juice into the glasses one day, and upon drinking out of the little cups, she and Carrie had gagged. Obviously the remains of some hard Middle Eastern beer or tea had not quite been washed out. Proof that their tea set was truly authentic, and they both smiled broadly at the thought of their invaluable piece and how much it might be worth.
Meanwhile, there was a note from Diana, who had recovered from homesickness once again:
“… On Thursday I am doing some Scottish fiddling with a fellow fiddler and guitar player at the Stupe!… For this summer, I’m trying to get an internship with a politician, hopefully Jim Talent or Kit Bond…”
Then there was a bit of getting things done that Tuesday morning, although most of it would just be part of the week set aside for relaxing.
“Little House” was ready for the watching, and she found out interesting things, such as Laura and Willie being actual brother and sister, as well as Albert and Andy being actual brothers. And even though Nellie was a terrible cook on the show, in actuality, she was published in two cookbooks for her cookies.
Meanwhile, Collette snuggled her new pillow against her face. Actually, it was likely old; she didn’t know where it had come from. She had first seen it under the television cabinet from Libby when they moved it in to the apartment that past July. It was a soft plump round cushion, tucked to the middle on both sides with a matching fuzzy button. It was bright tulip pink, but very comfy, and somewhat of a novelty. She decided to use it while she was writing, as a rest from time to time.
And then there was also the sky above the tsunami. She had finished it – cinnamon red, fire orange, and poppy bright. It seemed to be a good sky, and she set it aside to complete the emerald wave another day.