Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs

Saturday, February 24, 2007

Monday was 23 that day – a year shy of her golden birthday. And it was Esther’s 25th, already. Still working away in Atlanta.

It was a windy day, rainy, gray, and windy. Even a little thunder crept in after three.

OLeif had been up till two-thirty the night before, finishing a slide show DVD for the youth fundraiser the following evening. This was after he and Peter spent the evening over Chinese and at the movies.

Collette, meanwhile, had been dreaming in detached fragments of people from the past on gray breezy days.

Francis seemed to enjoy his game that day. OLeif and Collette arrived fifteen minutes late due to various set-backs and OLeif brought Mom a cappuccino from work (where he had been shortly before, burning a DVD on his malfunctioning computer).

For the game – although with only five players on his team, none of them received a break, and they seemed a little tuckered by the time OLeif, Collette, and Rose left a little early to bring Rose to work for the afternoon. The score was about 30 to 8 when they departed. And the little blond-haired kid, the spit-fire on the team, was pretty red in the face, as he usually was during the games.

After dropping off Rose at Subway (who talked the whole way there about how Subway was not a good work environment, in the hopes of eventually convincing Dad to let her work at Columns), OLeif and Collette returned one last time to the apartment. They vacuumed, scrubbed off sinks and counters, removed some nails from the walls, and turned in the keys. And that was that on the old apartment.

The rain continued to fall and the wind kept on whipping. Bread baked in the bread maker in the kitchen, and Collette’s once nearly-dead mint plant seemed to have mostly revived itself on the window ledge.

Cleaning the study and laundry took up most of the rest of the afternoon. OLeif soon discovered why it was taking the dryer three rounds to dry any of the clothes. He pulled out a roll of blue lint two inches thick from the lint-catcher in the back.

And that was the most unusual thing that had happened that day.

Some days were just busy-work days.

Good for a yawn.