St. Patty

Thursday, March 17, 2005

Officially St. Patty’s Day, and once again, Collette donned the green. There was much to think about and get done that fine day of sunshine… as much as she would have preferred the thunderstorms.

There was the office to pack up, all the paperwork and the bulletin to be finished, the palm branches to purchase from the flower shop for Sunday… It would be a busy day.

And Collette thought as she worked that morning. As she made their lunches – tuna and tiny juicy red tomatoes for OLeif, made the bed, washed up the kitchen, tidied up the bedroom, prepared materials for the afternoon, curled her hair, and the like… it was rather fun keeping things cleaned up and making stuff (although she didn’t like cooking). It wouldn’t drive her crazy if the place wasn’t cleaned up all the time. After all, weren’t two full baskets of laundry and odd ends of OLeif’s still sitting in the bedroom from a month ago. But there was some satisfaction in completing things, finishing things off.

And the poor little calico was suffering. Mom and Collette had picked her up the previous morning. The poor little thing – Shamrock would be her name. Within the space of several days, she had been checked for leukemia, given her booster shot and rabies shot, de-wormed, micro-chipped, and spayed. She looked so mournful, tucking herself carefully on the cushion of Mom’s writing chair. Her eyes nearly crossed at times, she seemed so weepy. Perhaps in a matter of days she would be feeling better, they all hoped.

And while they attempted to keep the antics and frantics of the dog and other cats away from her, their attention was also divided to the newly hatched chicks in Mom’s and Dad’s room.

“Collette, Collette!” Linnea had called to her that evening. “Do you want to come see Poofy?”

“Sure,” Collette had followed her back.

There lay a pile of fuzzy sun-yellow fluff balls, huddled together under the lamplight and peeping most crazily.

“But how do you know which one is Poofy?” Collette had asked, seeing as they were all identical.

“Oh, it’s this one,” Linnea assured her, scooping up one of the bright cuddlings in her hand. “I just know.”

It was a day for snicker doodles, and Carrie baked up a nice perfectly cinnamoned batch. However, the Snicketts girls, it seemed, were known to forget about baking bits in the oven. And whether it was because they had no timer, someone switched it off too early, or changed it, one batch at least, was bound to burn. And it did – while Carrie showed Collette her new Windsor-Pilates aerobic program, set to Spanish guitar. (The same as Collette’s biscuits had toasted a tad too long that Thursday morning.) But there were always at least two or three sets of good ones. Dad chowed down on the plate of white snicker doodles.

“Dad!” Carrie would whisk the plate away. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

Dad just smiled and took another.

“Dad! You’re supposed to be on a diet!”

“No – your mom is.” Dad laughed.

“Martin Luther!” Mom went after him.

Dad just laughed and hurried back on to other things, stopping to check out the new kitten invading the premises.

And that evening there was a trip to the store for an Easter basket for Collette and OLeif. Mom had her pick one out, and Carrie predicted correctly, which one she would choose – a small wicker blue basket with blue glass beading around the side. And there was also a package of blue easter grass to go with it.

They also stopped by the baby section, as Mom was to attend a baby shower that Friday, and Carrie proceeded to test all the baby toys, nearly breaking half of them in the attempt to make them work, play a tune, or whatever else they were meant to do. Then there was an ice-cold Pepsi for Collette who had been thirsty the entire day.

Collette showed the Easter basket to Dad upon arriving home, and Carrie proudly told him:

“Yes, I predicted which one she would chose before she even saw it. Yes, yes – the great me.”

Dad just rolled his eyes and Carrie laughed.

“You’re such a cute daddy.”

But meanwhile, Dad had been sneaking shows of “Alias”, although he had promised to wait until the whole season came out on DVD.

“Dad!” Collette exclaimed, catching him red-handed.

Dad looked rather guilty as he sat back on the couch with the remote control.

“You promised.”

“Yeah,” Carrie chimed in. “I fell for it too. I watched two episodes at work. And I made the Mexicans really mad because I changed their station.”

But there was no stopping Dad who was bound to finish the episode, and so he went downstairs to finish it, while everyone else popped in MidSomer Murders – an episode of extra-terrestrial life and crop circles. It was quite an amusing episode, met with many groans and laughs. And for show snacks, Carrie chomped away at her carrots and Ranch dip, while OLeif polished off a dinner of corned beef, cabbage, and potatoes, and the last two snicker doodles.

It was a fun day, to be sure.

And meanwhile that Thursday morning, as the Irish jigs and reels played over the radio waves, Collette felt her Scotch-Irish blood come back a little stronger. She nearly felt like taking a trip over to see the grand green country for some good Irish music and a pub, perhaps. But maybe a cider would do her better. She never could manage the thought of tasting a beer, whether it was Irish or not – too bitter.

“What do you think?” It was OLeif.

Collette turned around from her computer station and smiled.

OLeif stood by the door, arms outstretched, dressed for work. With his usual work pants and collared shirt, he had managed to find his only green and purple tie, and sported his clover-green belt.

“Very nice,” Collette laughed. “But do you think they’ll let you wear it to work?”

“I don’t know,” OLeif walked off, thinking about it.

“Well, I think you should. It’s funny.”

Leave it to OLeif to find something subtly goofy to pull off like that.

And good news had come – the Englishs had found another little boy in Taiwan on the waiting list. Mrs. English, prompt as she was, had already submitted the paperwork, and they held their breath. Perhaps the little black-haired darling wouldn’t be in their home by the fall, but at least there was new hope, as sad as it had been to lose the first little one. Collette admired their pluck to keep on.