Pray thee take pain...

Thursday, December 22, 2005

(7:55am) Tuesday evening’s voice recital was interesting, to say the least. There were about twenty kids who sang, like, seven songs apiece, according to Molly after she witnessed the event. But she thoroughly enjoyed the performance, apparently, finding it much more creative and interesting than what she was normally used to. Most of the performers were green under the gills, which was to be expected, as most had only begun singing that fall. However, (as Molly told Collette later), when Curly began singing “Panis Angelicus,” all Molly could think of was an ode to the great “Stano,” which was, naturally, an inside joke.

There were cookies and punch afterwards, where Collette attempted to introduce Molly to those folks whom she knew (now that the crowd had changed considerably since her choir days). But she did this most from a distance. Molly was convinced, by the end, that everyone was somehow interrelated to one another, which was almost true.

At one point, Annamaria came up to them, and OLeif introduced her saying, “And Annamaria is one of the few who is not married or getting married yet.”

“And that’s because she’s fifteen,” Collette finished for him.

And such was that night of less-than-shining-talent. But Collette had to hand it to all of the students, that they did try, no matter the outcome of their attempts.

And there was other news circling. Bing had joined the hand bell choir at Missouri Baptist, Velvet was finally engaged to Alfonso Candles, and their wedding would likely be the following October, and Crystabelle Bun, just married a little over five weeks, was feared to have Krone’s disease, as did Nevermore Raven. Also, Rapunzel Milk had broken things off with Justus, sadly. He was there and looking as chipper and bright as ever, but older somehow, more mature. He wore his scholarly glasses and drank a cup of coffee, discussing the latest happenings with Collette, after having given her a hug.

And Wednesday was off to Soulard. But as they waited for Grandma to arrive at the house, Collette and Linnea were in a discussion over various things. While Collette took out her new birthday marker set from Linnea, Collette began to explain to her the illuminations of the early monks in the church. She looked up several pages on the Internet to show her, and told her of the monks’ dedication to copying the Scriptures, by hand.

“But how did they do it without any mistakes?” Linnea wanted to know.

“Well, they had certain processes,” Collette recalled reading on the subject, “even back in the Old Testament when the priests copied the Bible, they had to wear special robes, used special ink and pens and paper. They had to check every letter over in various ways to be sure it matched the original manuscript. It was their job and they had to do it just right. They were only human, of course, so God kept His word safe from them making big mistakes in copying the Bible.”

Sometimes it was difficult to explain such things to children, and so Collette had long ago given up trying to simplify her words for Linnea and other kiddoes. She only explained the “big” words she used, once she had said them.

“And they used to write in Hebrew in the Old Testament,” Collette went on, “and they wrote backwards, from right to left.” She demonstrated.

Linnea’s eyes grew wide. “How did they do that?”

“Here, I’ll show you.”

Linnea followed her back to Mom’s and Dad’s room where she took down Dad’s Hebrew and Greek Bibles from his theology bookshelf. Linnea was rather impressed. Meanwhile, Collette happened to walk through Carrie’s room, where evidence lay on the floor of a recent kill.

“Rose,” Collette called out to her, “the dog just destroyed the Santa hat Magnus gave you.”

“I know,” Rose wrinkled her nose in disgust, “I punched him between the eyes.”

Another Rose-ism.

Soon, Grandma had arrived for the fun of the day, and they were all off to the city. On the way, Collette read short passages of “The Merchant of Venice” to Linnea, seeing if she might be able to decipher them. She did decently well, as they went through bits of Act II, Scene II.

“Why do they talk so funny?” Linnea asked.

“That’s Old English,” Collette tried to explain. “People back then, when Shakespeare wrote this, would have understand better what the actors were saying. Just because they talked more like that, we think.”

“Ok,” Linnea thought, “say ‘pig’ in Old English.”

“Odious bag of fat and… gluttony.”

Linnea giggled.

“Say, ‘Let’s climb a tree.’”

“Let-est us yonder climb thy great oaken tree atop far hill.”

“Traffic light.”

“See-est thou great blinking light, as a lantern… of colored… of golden hues, and green.”

“Say, ‘See the car driving down the highway.’”

“See-est there such odd be-wheeled creature flying down the… patch of strange… black street.”

Much laughter. And thus it continued.

The market was cold and lovely arrayed in bright patches of white mushrooms, brilliant tangerines, bunches of holly, bittersweet, and velvet red roses, bacon and sausages in glass cases, the bakery (where the little kids split (courtesy of Grandma) a giant chocolate chip cookie, Joe a sweetly tart lemonade, and Collette an “elephant ear” (flat sugar and cinnamon pastry) which she never was able to try because she accidentally ended up with the cookie instead (which OLeif ate)). There was also a stop by the animal shop once again, to cuddle the bunnies. And much to Grandma’s delight, there was an “oreo” bunny in the cage. And once again, there was the uproar to convince Mom to buy one. And once again, she wouldn’t hear of it, for Dad’s sake.

“Same thing every year,” Mom laughed and rolled her eyes as they went back out into the fresh cold air.

Meanwhile, as they were on their last stretch, and Grandma had just bought some pies, Carrie-Bri had an inspiration.

“Quick,” she urged Joe (while Grandma and Mom were still down one of the alleys), and slipped a five dollar bill into his hand, “Go grab me one of those pineapples.”

“No, I’m not doing it,” Joe refused to be part of the conspiracy.

“Collette,” Carrie tried the same thing, eyeballing Mom from a distance.

Mom walked up.

“Why do you want me to get you a pineapple?” Collette asked her.

“Carrie!” Mom exclaimed.

“Oh,” Carrie groaned. “What, come on, Mom! Just a little pineapple!”

“No, Carrie, no pineapple.”

“Why can’t she have pineapple?” Grandma asked.

“Oh, she’s just terribly allergic is all,” Mom said to her. “She gets all sick and can’t see straight. Even if she has a little.”

As grumpy as Carrie might be, Mom stood firm. And that was the end of that. On it was to Uncle Bill’s Pancake House for lunch, which was another good time of all the kids (including Carrie) drawing goofy pictures (caricatures) of the family. Joe’s interpretation of Collette was, of course, a Sphinx.

“My lips aren’t that big,” Collette noted to him as he sketched.

Joe laughed, “Well, they are now.”

And quickly came the time of yet another annual shopping trip to Old Saint Charles for Grandma, the English and Snicketts girls, and Collette. Why it was an annual shopping trip, Collette didn’t really know. They never really bought much of anything. Well, maybe the moms did. Collette had never purchased a thing. But it was the sixth year running of the tradition, even though the four oldest girls were ready to call it quits by the second shop. In addition, Diana had forgotten to wear walking shoes and socks, so her feet were thoroughly numbed over by the time they breezed into the third shop, merely to warm themselves before moving on past the other foreign Santas, carolers, and Saint Lucia’s. But there was Cracker Barrel once again, of course, (though not in front of the blazing fire), and a bowl of good macaroni and cheese for Collette. Diana settled on a chocolate cobbler after deciding against the pecan pie. Meanwhile, they all chatted over various things, including Eve’s upcoming trip to Haiti, while the three little girls worked on their hot cocoa and crayons and pictures at the other end of the table.

At the office, Ivy was in the middle of telling Collette about her conversation at Applebee’s:

“And I’m there at the bar waiting to pick up these gift certificates, and this guy starts talking to me!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and I was thinking, ‘Hmmm, you’ve really been nursing that beer over there, buddy.’ And so he starts telling me about how this teacher he had in Texas.”

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

Ivy and Collette turned to the outburst of anger Judah was directing towards the obstinate copier, papers flying.

He looked up. “Sorry.”

“This teacher he had in Texas,” Ivy continued, “who told him that Santa Clause wasn’t real…”

Later, Ivy told Frances, “Judah almost cursed out the copier earlier.”

“Well, did he get his copies?” Frances asked, chuckling.

“He did, yes.”

“And lost his sanctification in the process,” Frances laughed, heading towards the delicious crockpot of chili which Ivy had brought into the office, along with a smorgasbord of Christmas snacks for the office staff and volunteers. Judah hungrily eyed the chili himself, munching the eatables.

“I’m just standing here grazing,” he talked to himself. “Cow.”

“Pray thee take pain to allay with some cold drops of modesty thy skipping spirit.”

– Bassanio, “The Merchant of Venice”