Easing into a Thinking Process
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
What a deliciously ghoully day, Collette thought to herself that morning, as she watched the skies out the windows. Red oak leaves danced jigs on their branches across the street. Granny’s Donut shop across the way was still open for the morning, as the police officers and old grandpas made their rounds for iced jelly and cinnamon rolls. Storms were in the air, far off. All was pretty much quiet, except for the few passing cars on Mexico Road. Something seemed like it should come.
She studied that morning at the little square dining room table, as OLeif took a breather to work on his laptop while “Little House” played in the background. Collette particularly focused on one scene where Mary described the dream of her and John’s new life together. Of green fields, new wheat and wildflowers, a fresh spring well, chickens scratching corn by the barn, a vegetable garden “like Ma’s”… and later as she sent him off to college at the train depot with a box of sandwiches and cake with a bow in her hair and bittersweet tears in her thirteen year old eyes… so very young. It brought up imageries of things she dwelt on in different ways, in regards to her own life.
She was going to have quite a time of it, preparing for Carrie-Bri’s birthday, Francis’ Webelow Court of Honor at Scouts, the trip to Louisiana, the wedding, trip back through the night, OLeif being accepted as a new member at church… Mom had called that morning for snack requests and to pass on information. Collette asked for strawberry “fizzies” and Little Debbie snack cakes. She had to remember to pack everything the following day, select a nice freshly baked batch of rainbow frosted cupcakes for Carrie… she had asked for Olive Garden carry-out for Thursday as well. And her skydiving was scheduled for Saturday at eight-thirty in the morning with Elizabeth and another Bosnian co-worker, Elmer. She hoped all worked out well for the weekend, although she would surely be dreadfully tired, as well as for the early exam the following Monday morning. But life was like that.
She had thoughts on many things that morning in particular, and recorded what she could in her journal, sky blue and graced with an appliqué butterfly of magenta, one she had placed herself with a little Elmer’s. More ginger ale cooled in the fridge as she worked that morning, trying to catch up on her writing and tangled thoughts as well. It was a good day for book reading and hot cocoa, but there was none to be had – too much to be done elsewhere, and within the hour or close to it, Carrie and Rose would be finished with choir and would pick her up to tutor once again. It was already time to write up their math schedule for the spring.
On the home-front, things were good. Dad came home in his black bomber jacket, (courtesy of Carrie-Bri on his forty-sixth birthday – they would never forget his reaction), to take Mom out for El Maguey Mexican food. Carrie-Bri was to register for a Spanish class at the community college on top of it all, including Arabic at home. Joe seemed to be mending nicely after his fever broke the night before. Rose was troublesome as ever, terrorizing Francis from his afternoon snack and half hour turn on the computer. (Subsequently, her bottle of Pepsi was thrown out the back door as punishment, before math class began, and it still lay there in the night rain, for all Collette knew). Linnea was making plans to build her own First Aid box as a contribution to Francis’ “Boy’s Club”, and the dog, the cat, and the kitten rough-housed, Trooper being conveniently scared of the light-up Indian and Pilgrims for the front porch, cowering from their sight. For dinner, Mom read a bit of a story about Scotland and shortbread and John Knox, while Francis dove for the frozen fruit to pick out all the honey dew melon balls, and Linnea, the peaches.
Meanwhile, Carrie-Bri and Dad had a meeting scheduled for Thursday evening on her birthday, with several of Dad’s contacts in the FBI. Her aspiration toward the Secret Service called for important measures, and this was the beginning. Collette hoped that all would go well, and that she would be all the more excited looking toward her goal.
Collette figured that the week would be crazy ahead. Somehow she hadn’t quite been able to settle back yet, since the wedding, and contemplate anything. What with about seventy thank yous, setting up a home, studying for her senior year, tutoring, sending Mom and Dad off to Europe, and everything else that went on in a young married couple’s life, she had never taken the time to settle down and ease on into the thinking process of it all. Perhaps one of these days she could do so, but not any time soon.
She got up from the computer where she had been typing and proceeded to set out her clothing for the next two events. But first, she grabbed a glass of fresh spring water from the fridge, which OLeif had so kindly purchased for her the evening before, a jug of it for fifty-eight cents. The tap water was beginning to taste more funny as the days went on. OLief, of course, drank it anyway, not surprisingly. It tasted all the same to him.
Diana was to play violin that night, even a duet with the illustrious Amy Oshira, her teacher. What a way to go out with a bang before heading to Chicago, she thought. It promised to be an excellent evening. Perhaps there would be time for an ice cream afterward, if all went well and people were willing.
She rubbed her eyes. They were sore and heavy, and to top it off, another sore graced the inside of her mouth, along with the ache in her back. But it could be worse, she knew, and so she kept on with it. After all, there was a hot soup to put on, psychology to study, and OLeif would be home after taking some needed snapshots at Shepherd’s.
She wished she was far, far away in a land of quiet and peace where she could not be touched, not heard of for a time. She wished she had a nice hot, fresh buttery pretzel from Pretzel Time with soft cheese for dip and an ice cold Pepsi. A falling snow outside with cinnamon and Daniel-Boone-like fires in the air. She wanted to go hunting for bittersweet in the woods. She wanted to bounce a bright yellow rubber ball off the pavement, just the size to fit perfectly into her hand. She wanted to dress up nice and go to an old-fashioned dance, a country ball. She wanted to buy a teaspoon from an antique shop and have it with a Haagen Daas raspberry sorbet, the type they got at the lodge in Wyoming at Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons…
She stared off into space a short time, thinking, and thinking about many things. The light seemed dim and cold; she rather wondered if night was pressing in on her eyes, and she could not realize it. Oh, she thought to herself, how tiring it all was.
She thought of how when she and Diana were young, they would often attend the symphony with their moms, brothers, and sisters. On the way, they would dream themselves as princesses, and act the part upon arrival. Their palace, their chandeliers and velvet walls, ghostly halls, and ancient rooms. They would observe their fellow students from schools across the city with tasteful disdain at their loud mouths and yelling and laughter as they filed into the ticket hall, before entering the grand hall. They would even discuss their “palace” and the musicians hired for the occasion. It was a grand event.
Diana and Collette had always done the imagining in an elaborate fashion. They dreamed up their weddings, time machines, fairy tales and fantasies, cakes and cookies, banks for multi-infinitiaires, tea-party birthdays, Olympic events, and all sorts of fantastic things. At one time it had been their mission in life, it seemed, to imagine whatever they could not actually do as they would have hoped.