Festive Greetings on Thy 21st
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
(8:15pm) The birthday evening had been a blast as well, with a full golden moon rising in the east. And there were electronic greeting cards from the English Family and Molly (of a pear of crunchy goodness). All very thoughtful, for at home there were gifts of sour apple caramel pops and a box of colors from Linnea, a shiny bag printed of travel scenes from Joe and stuffed with a small rubber cake which read:
“Grow a birthday cake.
I looked all over for the perfect birthday gift for you and found one that…
Looks delicious,
Has no fat or calories,
Requires no preparation or clean up,
Won’t go straight to your waistline,
You’re never too old to enjoy,
Lets you know how much you’re loved!”
…and grew 600% its original size. He also gave her a box of Reeses Swoops – quite delicious. There was, in addition, a sign which suited her and OLeif perfectly, reading:
Business Hours
We’re open
Most days about 9 or 10. Occasionally as early as 7, but some days as late as 12 or 1.
We’re closed
About 5:30 or 6. Occasionally about 4 or 5, but sometimes as late as 11 or 12.
Some days or afternoons we aren’t here at all, and lately I’ve been here just about all the time, except when I’m someplace else, but I should be here then, too.
From the rest of the family, there was a large box of various cocoas covered in vintage Santa prints, another box of Swoops, although Hershys – also equally tasty, and the softest, warmest, cuddliest bright red robe and socks Collette had ever felt. There were also several old books from Lebanon, Illinois, where Mom and Grandma Combs had found them. One was large and from the 1920’s – the White House Cookbook and on the book had stuck a piece of a newspaper, discussing the Nazis and Turks, Istanbul – quite exciting. Another was a second copy of Quo Vadis (for Collette had one copy which had fallen apart), and this one was dated 1897 – a lovely piece. The third was, perhaps, her favorite – a pocket reader of “The Merchant of Venice” (her favorite Shakespeare), copyright 1899. Wonderful gifts, all.
“Oh, and your gas mask is on backorder,” Carrie-Bri explained from the couch, where Linnea was sitting on her back. “I think the government has just placed a huge order, so they ran out.”
And there was Salvatore’s pizza for dinner with sodas, over various episodes of “I Love Lucy” for the entire family, and an ice cream cake for dessert which read “Happy birthday, Collette” and was wreathed in holly. And they all sang “Happy Birthday” to her for at least the third time (without the candles – it being an ice cream cake and all), complete with Carrie’s version (“You smell like a zoo”) and other obnoxious noises and carryings-on from everyone else. It was a grand chorus.
“You remember when we were in Sunday School at Kirk?” Carrie asked, “and Mrs. Wiffle would always have us sing, ‘Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. Born again means salvation. How many are you?’”
How could they forget? Little white-haired Mrs. Wiffle – a spunky old German grandma who didn’t put up with any nonsense from the numerous pre-kindergartners and kindergartners in the Kirk Sunday School trove. Ah, the good old days…
Later, back at the apartment around ten, Denae, Wally, and Izzy dropped by to give Collette a DaVinci puzzle and three special chocolate bon bons from Borders. They chatted for a spell and felt Collette’s new red robe before scooting off to prepare for the voice recital the following night.
Meanwhile, Collette had come across a favorite lullaby, sung by Nat King Cole on Pandora:
“A Cradle in Bethlehem”
“Sing sweet and low your lullaby
Till angels say, “amen.”
A mother tonight is rocking a cradle in Bethlehem.
“While wise men follow through the dark a star that beckons them.
A mother tonight is rocking a cradle in Bethlehem.
“A little child shall lead them,” the prophets said of old,
In storm and tempest keep ’em until the bells is tolled.
“Sing sweet and low your lullaby
Till angels say, “amen.”
A mother tonight is rocking a cradle in Bethlehem.”
Meanwhile, everyone else had found the basket of delicious-looking fruit sitting on the island in the copy room.
“What are we going to do with all that fruit?” Frances had asked, coming down from his office.
“Well,” Ivy said, “I assume we are going to eat it. What was your suggestion? We could always throw them at each other at staff meeting.”
Frances laughed. “Well, here’s my thought – we give Collette a five second head start and start heaving fruit at her. No, no – actually I was thinking we could give them to Jimmy, after we eat what we want.”
In the end, Collette had already gathered the last two of the three Soulard pears and had brought them in their paper bag for lunch. She ate only one, as both were under-ripe. Perhaps she should have given Molly all three, for she preferred the crunchiness before they became ripe. And before staff meeting, Isabella had brought in gifts for the crew in small brown handled bags tied with evergreen raffia. Inside, Collette and Ivy found envelopes with twenty dollars worth of Panera Bread Company gift certificates, as well as a limited edition (Ivy’s read #75, Collette’s #76, by Laura b. Gordon) hand-crafted porcelain ornament carved into the shape of a heart and painted delicately, reading:
“By faith we understand that the worlds were framed by the word of God, so that the things which are seen were not made visible.”
Once again, Isabella’s thoughtfulness shining through.
Later, Ivy was trying to think of some activity or speaker for the men’s chili dinner in January. As mention had been made earlier of a barn dance in the spring, Ivy suggested that the men have a barn dance for their activity.
“A man’s only barn dance?” Judah asked, coming into the room.
“Hey, I know what you’re thinking,” Ivy said. “You’re thinking they should organize it.”
“No, I’m thinking a man’s only barn dance.” He danced a jig.
“Oh, no,” they all groaned.
Then Jimmy came out and did his own jig.
“Oh, and half of you would have to wear skirts, now,” Ivy went on.
“Only if you spike the chili,” Judah said.
“What’s this now?” Rosemary asked, coming out from her office.
“A man’s only barn dance?” Isabella asked in mock disgust.
“Oh, it was Judah’s idea,” Ivy insisted.
“No, it was your idea,” Judah pointed at her. “It was Ivy’s idea.”
Collette just sat back and laughed it all out. Oh, the intellectual prowess of the church office staff.