Return to Normalcy

18 June 2006

For the first time in three Sundays, dear Reader, we find ourselves reposing amid the domestic felicity which, before the interruptions of overmuch traveling, had served as the traditional and unfailing inspiration for the stately prose of our humble blog. No more will our ardent readership suffer the pangs of unmitigated despair as they settle down of a Sabbath evening to call up their favorite page in all the broad expanse of the World Wide Web, only to learn that the posting of the Collings Reveiw has been delayed once more for heaven knows how long. No more will weary parents be forced to lay their restless children down to sleep with no ready response to the interminable queries, "But will there be a Collings post soon? Shall the Review appear tomorrow?" No, friend Reader, on this Sabbath evening there shall be no disappointment for any of our impassioned followers, young or old, bond or free, hirsute or balding, comatose or hyperactive. The Sunday Review is back, punctual and pugnacious as ever, with all the vigor and verve our intergalactic readership has come passionately to relish, tenderly to cherish, impatiently to demand, and, most often, blissfully to ignore. We proceed.

Now, then, for the Review.

Monday (June 12):
Eager to return to work after the reprieve of a lengthy vacation, Justin luxuriated his way through the morning's routine, thoughtfully masticating each bite of the traditional pancakes, hoping against hope that by lolly-gagging his way through the morning, the whole day might magically disappear and he wouldn't have to go to work at all. In this hope he was disappointed, and a few minutes before 11 o'clock MST our hero found himself once more ensconced in the Harold B. Lee Library for another happy romp through the recondite tomes that trace through their mustiness the history of Western thought. Before Justin could even place himself on the clock, though, the Library's emergency alarm--whose devastating volume reached such ludicrous proportions as to drive a Martian hermit to seek refuge and seclusion on a satellite of Pluto--forced all library patrons to evacuate the building and deprived several of them of their gift of hearing. Justin sauntered over to the law library to take care of a delicate issue involving an overdue book. Returning triumphant after haggling his way out of yet another library fine, Justin was dismayed to learn that the library doors remained closed. He was also dismayed to learn, via email, that the ever officious BYU bureaucratic machine had terminated him from his erstwhile employment ("What! He graduated and hasn't been fired yet!" an angry administrator is reported to have screamed. "Get that Collings off this campus or I'll...." There followed a torrent of unprintable billingsgate, with which we shall not offend the sensibilities of our younger readers). Fortunately, the great panacea for bureaucratic madness is the intervention of a ranking bureaucrat, and because Justin's employer happens to live and move and have a being in the highest tiers of BYU administration, he was quickly re-hired. He did, however, have to report to the Student Employment offices with his social security card in hand--presumably to certify that he had in fact been born and was, therefore, qualified to labor as an employee of the B.Y.U. Having thus regained his job, Justin made his way back to the library (after an interlude of chatting with old co-workers at the Joseph Smith Papers). He tried to log on to Kronos to clock in for work, only to learn that Kronos now rejects his user name and password. This was the straw that broke the camel's proverbial back, the final ill omen of a series that convinced poor Justin that the Fates were unanimously opposed to his working that day. He retraced his steps back toward the humble habitation on the corner of seventh north and first west and took a much needed vacation from our vacation. Julia and Eli were thrilled to have Daddy home for the day; Lia was irked to have her irascible husband under foot for several more hours than the contract stipulates.
During Justin's misadventures of trying to do remunerative work, Lia was at home doing real work, unpacking and doing the necessary postfestial laundry.

Tuesday (June 13):
After overhearing a stray Monday evening murmur decrying the injustice of his getting to take a day off while his wife had no respite from her labors, an abashed Justin trudged his way back to work and was never heard from more.
At least not until early evening. After dinner we piled into the now-famous Big Blue Bull for an evening of adventure which consisted of our going in search of a mattress for Eli's crib. We first went to that venerable haunt of the rich and famous, Deseret Industries. D.I. had some charming new crib mattresses for $35. We now faced a moral dilemma, for similar mattresses, Lia was certain, were available at Wal-mart for $25. Was it worth it to betray a just and holy institution in favor of the incarnate demon of big-business, cutthroat capitalism, and all for ten lousy dollars? What should we do? Like any blue-blooded American hypocrites we made our way to Wal-mart, abandoning principle for the sake of an unbeatable deal. But ah, dear Reader, what a lesson we there learned! For cruel fate had raised the price of crib mattresses at Wal-mart to $34.98! We had sold our souls for a lousy two cents! But on the bright side, while at Wal-mart we got great deals on milk and peanut butter, so everyone went home happy. Everyone, that is, but Eli--Eli that ardent foe of corporate corruption; Eli that indefatigable trust-buster born-too-late; Eli that incorrigible, wild, flaming, pinko, socialist-sympathizing radical; Eli that moral giant--little Eli denounced us all the way home with a deafening roar of silent defiance.
We had quite a time indeed getting Julia and Eli to bunk amicably together. Eli fell asleep directly; Julia irrupted in a cacophany of weeping and wailing; she then gnashed her teeth for good measure. Julia tyrannos woke up each time Eli did, ready for the day and greeting one and all with a hearty, "Good morning!" At the 4 o'clock awakening, a whimpering Julia followed Lia back to the latter's bedroom. In a harsh whisper Lia told her to go back to bed. Julia responded with escalated whimpering. Lia then tried logic: "Look Julia, Eli's in her bed; Mommy's in her bed; Daddy's in his bed; you need to go get in your bed." With things thus incontrovertibly set before her, the whimpering ceased and Julia trotted contentedly back to her room for the remainder of the night.

Wednesday (June 14): We were visited this evening by Justin's close friend of long-standing, Richard Russell. Lia treated one and all to a "smashing" (for you Norwegian Star fans) meal of home-made pizza, and Justin, ever the virtuoso raconteur, directed the conversation with surpassing wit and charm. Richard brought with him a delectable cheesecake, and some of our readers may know that the Collings clan likes of all things a cheesecake.

Thursday (June 15): In keeping with a family resolution to get in shape (or, as the producers of Tae-Bo would have it, to "Get ripped") we hastened as a family to the Grandparents Collings house to "work out," as the vernacular has it. While in the process of getting ripped, we watched part of game 4 of the Mavs-Heat series. Eli booed Shaquille O'Neal rather ferociously but was reproved by Julia who, while caring little enough herself for the Heat's self-proclaimed extra-terrestrial center, is nonetheless a warm admirer of Shaq's teammate, Dwyane (that is how his parents spelled it) Wade. Julia's main man scored 36 and the Heat rolled to even the series.

Friday (June 16): While Justin put in his last day of work as a research assistant before plunging headlong into his seminar on Mormon thought, the three ladies of the house paid a most rewarding visit to the Bloomfield family who, not having had their full of us at Wymount, have followed us to the Provo 4th ward. Julia spent the first half of the day chattering anticipatorially about the prospect of her imminent encounter with Sammy Bloomfield and the second half of the day reminiscing nostalgically about that visit. Eli meanwhile cast meaningful glances at Ezra Bloomfield but learned to her sorrow that the young gentleman still thinks of her as but a child. Oh, to be young and in love!
In the evening we decided to take a family walk around the BYU campus, knowing that our days here are numbered and knowing as well that the campus is never so beautiful as when the students are absent. To our horror, we headed toward the Maeser Building--the one edifice on campus with a trace of classical architecture--only to learn that a stray band of pagans surrounded the venerable building, all engaged in some loud, horrid, and grotesque ritual (on closer inspection they turned out to be BYU students involved in what Vulgarity had termed a "Backyard Bash"). We quickly fled to the opposite corner of campus, but greater horrors greeted us there (and we could not respond, as did Milton's Satan, "Hail, horrors, hail!"). That's right, terrified Readers, the northeast quad had been invaded by extraterrestiral arch-infidels, apostates from the orthodox infidelity of a planet they denoted with the strange characters "E.F.Y." They were engaged in an act that distantly--very distantly--resembled dancing; and from the loud speakers they blasted sounds that might have resembled, if we had not known better, the pseudo-music of such inane assemblies as Ace of Bass or the Jackson Five. We fled home, horrified. Surprisingly, nothing of this alien invasion appeared in the next day's papers (which were understandably devoted cover-to-cover with breath-to-breath and heartbeat-to-heartbeat updates about the earliest minutes in the life of Shiloh Nouvel Jolie-Pitt, child of promise and harbinger of world peace and economic stability). We calmed sufficiently in time for bed.

Saturday (June 17): Justin engaged once more in that most virile of Saturday morning rituals, namely, he mowed the lawn. He re-entered the home anticipating the admiration and applause of his adoring family only to find that they had evacuated the home in his absence. Perhaps, he thought in a moment of panic, perhaps they thought this was there chance to flee to Canada and escape the bondage of his overbearing patriarchal tyranny? Justin felt the fool, however, when he learnt that they had sneaked out unannounced in search of his father's day presents (and we shall leave our readers amid the agonized mystery of what those gifts might have been!). In the afternoon Justin took Julia to Grandpa's house, ostensibly to work out, but really the trip was an outgrowth of Julia's implacable desire to watch the USA-Italy World Cup match. Justin had thought the match would be the source of some ambivalence--how could he cheer against his beloved azzurri? At the same time, how could he cheer against his own countrymen? However, once the match began surrogate patriotism was tossed to the birds and father and daughter cheered USA all the way. Julia, in particular, thundered something rather unprintable after the match's officious officials dealt the American squad its second red card. The bitter taste of the 1-1 tie, however, was made sweet by Ghana's upset victory of the Czech Republic (we report such football [sorry, "soccer"] news for the benefit of our readers, for the World Cup is an event about which every self-respecting citizen of planet Earth should be respectably informed). In the evening, Justin and Julia joined some of Julia's aunts, uncles, and cousins in taking Grandpa Collings to a Japanese restaurant for Father's day.

In darker news, Lia has been sick much of this week with a cold and a sore throat. We heartily wish her a speedy recovery. And to you, dormant Reader, we once more wish the sweetest of dreams.