Without Resolution
Sunday, January 1, 2012
In the year that the world was intended to end, by some accounts, in an uproarious fire and pillage of doom and mayhem and destruction, capsizing oceans poisoned with toxic comet dust and obliterating disasters, devastating calamities of 19.7 earthquakes, volcanoes spewing liquid alien life forms, horrendous storms of giant meatballs, thirty-foot trolls and nine-hundred-foot dinosaurs devouring entire civilizations, incredible catastrophes of proportions never before witnessed by man, indeed, the annihilation of all living beings and the end of time itself…
which may or may not have been a misreading of the Mayan symbol for ‘turtle’…
2012 began quietly…
Well… after the 12:01 awakening from the fireworks and yelling, a 12:02 text message from Rose (which Collette hadn’t actually heard until seven hours later, due to the level of clatter outside), and OLeif’s 1:08 crash-into-bed.
During breakfast of Puck’s egg-in-a-nest, he needed reassurance that none of his family was “getting old”, after which Collette explained to him that they had entered a new year, 2012. Upon hearing this, Puck slapped a hand to his forehead.
“What’s wrong, buddy?”
“Oh great. In a year. In a year I turn five.”
“In four months, actually. Why?”
“I don’t want months. I don’t want to get months.”
“But why?”
“’Cause. I don’t want to have months.”
Judah was in the pulpit, perhaps for one of the last times before they packed up for Addis Ababa. Baby Eight was baptized by Judah. Puck gave little Wendimu (the Ethiopian name meaning “Little Brother”, or “Wendy” the stuffed donkey brother of Donkey) to Hesed. OLeif’s weather headache continued in the wind tunnel of the morning. And Linnea had sat with her friends as a mutual support group to keep each other from falling asleep.
“Judah kept looking over at us during the sermon like he was grumpy with us for falling asleep,” said Linnea. “But it kept us awake when he started shouting.”
Hesed’s baby brother had also made his brief debut.
“Now,” said Judah from the pulpit, “he’s all bundled up to protect him against your germs. I know you want to go over there and pinch his little cheeks. But don’t do it!”
Back on the ranch, the girls were in a row about their game of St. Louis-opoly (one of Linnea’s purchases from Nagle’s) the previous evening, further proof why Collette never played bored games.
Reports from the previous evening were also coming in.
OLeif photoshopped silly pictures of his brothers before eight, picked them up from Walgreens, and joined the rest of his family (sans red-head) and Joe for television, drinks, and conversation.
Collette had spent an uneventful few hours of Office reruns and a carb option Monster Burger, courtesy of OLeif and his insatiable desire to hand Collette the Earth on a silver platter with a side order of the moon and Jupiter for dessert.
Carrie had apparently researched photographs of monster sheep bunnies.
Rose had lit up the town with Benedict and Rosetta after prayer services at a Chinese buffet and Doctor Who back at her apartment, after attending the Star Trek exhibit at the Science Center with Benedict earlier in the day.
Francis had eaten steaks.
And Puckling was asleep by 7:30, half an hour past his Communist-Calvin bedtime.
Lunch was served. Carrie had baked a ham with cranberries and sauce, created a crock pot of homemade macaroni and cheese, and there was a bowl of giant black olives and another of orange cuties. As they gathered around the table there were the usual arguments and razzes and jokes…
“I wonder what sorts of unexpected trips we’ll take this year,” said Mom.
“To the hospital?” Carrie asked.
“Is Joe an ‘S’?” Rose asked Carrie.
“I’m tired of Meyers-Briggs,” Carrie replied.
“Well you started it.”
“And I’m ending it.”
“So are you going to be changing your room today?” Mom asked Carrie.
“Have we asked Dad about that yet?”
“No. Absolutely not. No taking up the carpet.”
“But, Dad, Ketseh’s been having some issues… Besides, I need to move out the bunk. I need to turn that room into an office.”
“I learned how to eat Jell-O with chopsticks last night,” said Rose.
The after-meal gathering commenced in the living room with the four girls. Linnea wrote a kill list for Snuggles, who had left another poor mouse on the doorstep. Carrie, who had been given a paper map of the world too big for her wall from Grewe visiting from Oklahoma (who was experiencing severe back troubles), had offered it to Rose for the present, who was wishing that she had been born in the 1850’s when everything was being discovered. And something about Rose playing poker with animal crackers and bowls of Mountain Dew on high school mission trips.
“Did any of you guys make New Year’s resolutions?” she asked.
“Naw…”
“Me neither. But I sort of did, I guess. I bought moisturizer.”
“Tell me a story, Mom,” said Carrie. “And it’d better not be about a man who built a house by a volcano.”
But Mom and Dad left for a nap, and Carrie sat on Rose, working through a can of sparkling lime water…
“I should release the Kraken into Mom’s and Dad’s room,” she said, eyeing Earnest from across the room.
Instead, she continued endless company revisions and pulled out the wad of sugar cookie dough wrapped in plastic.
Sometime around three o’clock or so, all ten members visited Grandma Snicketts to wish her a happy new year. Linnea was the last one out to the vehicles: scraggly side-bun, pearl earrings, red chucks, crocheted baby blanket around her shoulders, and pink plastic cup of water. Not long later, she dumped it out the window on a turn.
“You just killed an ant,” Rose told her, reading books to Puck with her superb story-telling skills in the back seat.
“That ant was going to die anyway.”
“So are you.”
Puck was hunting out things. Excuses of bad breath and germy hands elicited breath mints and “hanitizer” from Rose’s purse.
“Now we can make them smell like midnight pomegranate,” Rose told him, instructing him to rub his hands together.
OLeif rolled down the window…
“Just a little bit strong. Smells like someone filled my car with Fruit Loops.”
When they arrived, Puck pulled out the box of plastic Civil War soldiers. One of the pieces seemed to have been burned through.
“That was Uncle Balthasar or Uncle Clarence,” Dad explained. “I chewed the foot off that soldier though.”
“I don’t think so…” Rose disagreed, examining the subject.
Carrie was busy giving her a neck massage. Too many push-ups at work.
“I did. I promise,” said Dad.
“Then you must have the sharpest teeth in the world.”
“Well, just stick your finger in my mouth, and I’ll show you how sharp they are.”
As they departed, Joe and Francis were arguing over who would sit in the middle of the back seat…
“You’re fat.”
“I’m not sitting in the middle.”
And on the return drive, 88.1 was busy playing Slovak, Hungarian, and Irish ditties as they drove through golden hills, green knolls, and homes from the 60’s. And Puck, who had found a thumb-sized Bible in its entirety, had plans to get it read…
“Could I teach some mice how to read?” he asked. “’Cause they’ve got pretty small eyes.”
Back at the house, Carrie filled up the pans with sugar cookies, iced them in yellow, and let Puck help sprinkle them with blue and white stars.