Cunningham Christmas Chronicle 2013!
“I’m all a-twitter about the holidays,” I exclaimed as I poured the last drop out of the bottle of Scotch I got for Christmas last year (okay, I bought it Tuesday, but it’s been almost four days!).
“Dad,” sighed my youngest son, in that excruciating drone he gets when he’s exasperated with his ‘old time’ parents, “You can’t twitter. You don’t have a cell phone. I keep telling you to get one. It would be so much better. You can hook up with anyone wherever you are, like when you were standing outside of your car the other day when the door lock was frozen and you couldn’t get in. Don’t you see? Maybe you should get one for Christmas!”
I informed him, “I said ‘a-twitter,’ not Twitter,” while peering over my glasses and my glass! “And I can see.” He evidently mistook the dirty glass lenses as a sign of aging or perhaps spied a glazed stare (possible alcohol influence here). “And, besides,” I continued, “Don’t going saying that I’m hooking up with anyone in front of your mother. You’ll put ideas into her head and I don’t think she’s bought my Christmas present, yet.”
I keep tipping the Scotch bottle upside down, hoping to get the vapors to condense and a bit more drips into my glass. ‘You know how your mother feels about cell phones. We’re holding out to prove a point. When all of those satellites come crashing down like they said they would on the Science Channel, they’ll be useless.”
He shakes his head, with the look that says, ‘I can’t believe I have parents!’ He uses his low, instructive voice, “A twitter is not a thing. It’s something you do. It’s a way to talk to people without talking to them.” He continued, “And, if I did say anything to Mom, she wouldn’t remember it anyway (another story here).”
“Oh,” I replied, “Like when I ask you to bring in wood and you walk away, like talking without the words meaning anything?”
His whole body goes up and down in one big sigh. He starts to walk away, as I head for the top cupboard in search of that brandy I’m using to soak the annual holiday fruit cake, and he adds, “And those satellites aren’t coming down for another hundred years and you’ll be dead by then.”
I add, “Two things! By not eating any of my 92 dozen Christmas cookies I made last year, I got my cholesterol down to 12. I might be around for another two hundred years, so good luck with that thought if you’re sticking around here waiting for the house, and I have a phone with wires that go into the wall and when the power goes out I can still call them, if I wanted to link up with anybody.”
The middle son enters the kitchen at that point. He quips, “It’s LinkedIn.” I look at him, “What’s linked in?” The youngest moans, “Oh no, here we go again. I’m going to go bring some wood in.” He leaves the room.
“What,” asks the middle son, “You’re on LinkedIn.” I reply, “I know. I just needed him to go get some wood.”
I’m up to my neck peering into the cupboard, searching for my holiday beverage backups, adding, “It’s all about communication processes. The words aren’t important, it’s like playing billiards. Bounce it off one, the other reacts!” Middle son shrugs his shoulders and walks away. Got rid of him, too!
Now I have the downstairs to myself! I can make a list of all of the things that I, once again, don’t have ready for the holidays. I could sure use some help, I think, but I just insured that both would stay out of sight for about four hours.
The holidays are a time of joy. You can be ‘a-twitter’ about them, which I happened to be saying out loud, as my wife returned from another day at the hospital. (I have to talk to myself sometimes so I have someone sane to talk to…it has nothing to do with imbibing).