From the Netherlands
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Wednesday evening had been good. Before being dropped off at the Saint Charles Coffee House, Collette slipped another application to the library for Carrie and went with Mom by the grocery store for ingredients for the morning’s breakfast: a fruit salad: papaya, red grapes, kiwi, oranges, tart Granny Smith apples, green grapes, and bananas. And then there was cinnamon for the coffee cake. Mom looked over citronella candle holders while an older white woman led three little happy Asian girls through the store. She must have adopted all three; Collette couldn’t help but smile at them as they skipped along. There was also an iced tea for Mom and a Sunkist for Collette on the way out as the awesome sunset behind a storm, settled in the west.
At the coffee house, Collette was the first to arrive and ordered a strawberry smoothie prepared by the blue-eyed Joseph.
“So where’s the head of the house?” He inquired, upon her arrival.
Collette explained that her dear hubby was in Chicago with the youth. And then she began looking through the street guides to prepare her own trip to Chicago the following weekend.
St. Lucia arrived shortly later, looking quite darling in her little white jacket and swinging oval hoops of thick white plastic. The cloth of her jalopy-mobile was pasted back to the ceiling with patterns of thumbtacks and the car mats were labeled with “Presidential Limo”. She soon hurried in, holding up her jeans which were a little too large, and they discussed Lucia’s passion for protesting abortion at a clinic in Illinois. She was excited about being able to help in any way.
Then Carrie and Elizabeth soon followed from work, still in their uniforms and they discussed things: namely, everything.
And soon they returned for a viewing of “A Series of Unfortunate Events” with a punch of white grape juice and ginger ale and Ranch pretzels and Cheeze-its. Finally, Collette went upstairs to sleep on the couch after midnight while the other girls went out for a drive and returned to fall asleep at near six in the morning.
At work the next day, Ivy announced that Megan would soon be flying back from Oklahoma, the land of Taco Bueno’s (home of her most favorite Mexi-dip). She had enjoyed time with her uncle (younger than her by a year) at church functions, a pool party, volleyball and such, and would be leaving back to Rolla that weekend.
For lunch, Collette enjoyed a sandwich of salami and smoked cheddar with blue corn chips and peanuts. She loved having lunch from a paper bag – the rustle of the brown paper as she unwrapped the top…
And outside in the sweltering heat, Tom Thumb affixed the last pieces of blinding white siding under the steeple as dead summer leaves swirled over the black rock of the unfinished parking lot. Storm clouds piled in the shimmering humidity of the north above a warm gray haze.
And in the overbearing weight of such heat, Mom soon arrived with Francis and Linnea to drop off the 52 folding chairs for the hymn-sing and ice cream social that Sunday evening and they drove off to the Post Office to deliver two packages and for Collette to purchase a sheet of stamps.
“Where were you born?” The friendly gray-haired lady at the window asked Collette.
“Saint Louis, Saint Charles,” Collette replied, surprised.
“Hmmm… You look like you’re from the Netherlands, maybe Sweden… A very foreign look…”
Collette liked that idea.
“No, I don’t have any Swedish blood in me. German…”
“Everyone’s German,” Mom said.
“You’re right; everyone from South Saint Louis is German, or Italian…”
It was rather fun to talk with people from time to time in passing. Funny the things one picked up or heard. And Collette soon hurried downstairs, having Francis and Linnea willingly finish the painting of the walls and each other. And she then hopped in the shower to cozy down for the evening and a viewing of “Midsommer Murders” with Carrie when she got back from work.
Later, after Mom smoked up the house from the fish (she forgot a drip pan, as they all did from spell to spell), Collete helped Linnea count the coins from her piggy bank. As Collette sorted them, Linnea picked up the chunky hog and contemplated aloud:
“This is just the kind of piggy bank Rose would love. It’s fat and it has no legs. Rose loves stuff like that.”
She set the pig back down on the floor as Collette continued to count.
“I’ve been making a big mud ball for Joe,” she continued. “It’s this big.” She spread her arms out wide. “But every time I work on it, Francis keeps stepping on it… purposely. Isn’t he a bad boy?” She sighed, going on, “Do you want to help me with it? I even got my nails dirty.”
She picked up the chunky pig and walked into the kitchen as Collette counted to a total of nineteen dollars and 39 cents.
“Rose would love this pig, Mom, don’t you agree?” Linnea called.
And there was great excitement, anticipating the arrival of Jules Verne the next afternoon. Ten children, two proud parents, and two proud grandparents would gather there, with Mom, hopefully Carrie, Francis, and Linnea. Collette would have to content herself with mere pictures.