230. Love

Omigosh, C.W. is using the holiday break to study philosophy. Yeegads. When I walked into the living room this morning there was the form of Albert the Analyst, one of his favorites, sitting on the couch in this tweed jacket—the one with the suede patches on the elbows—surrounded by books. He looked at me through horn-rimmed glasses, partly covered with unkempt hair and said, “Peace.” He immediately followed it with, “Humbug.”

“Tis the season,” I said.

“That’s what I’m trying to make sense of,” he said. “It happens every year this time.”

“What happens?”

“This time of peace on earth and good will toward men turns so ugly.”

“No it doesn’t”

“Oh,” he said, “but it does. Just look around you. That TV show, the fake news show …”

“The so-called Fox ‘News’ show?”

“That’s the one,” he said. “When’s the last time you saw them promoting an intense feeling of deep romantic affection?”

“Uh,” I said, “I don’t think love is the cornerstone of their business plan.”

“Evidently not,” he said. “And it shows in all the strong feelings of annoyance, displeasure, or hostility we see everywhere we go.”

“Anger is not everywhere,” I said. “Look at all those presents people exchange.”

“Exactly what I’m talking about.”

This took me by surprise. “How so?”

“Just a few moments before you came in,” he said, “one of you neighbors called and I spoke with them.”

“What did they want?”

“It was a woman asking where she might find this particular present for her brother.”

“See,” I said, “that’s exactly what I mean. It’s the season for promoting peace on earth and goodwill by exchanging presents. She wanted you to help her express her love.”

He sighed and looked at me as if I had just said storks bring babies. “She wanted to know,” he said, “where she could buy some of that toilet tissue they sell that has your President Barack Obama’s face printed on each square.”

“Oh dear,” I said.

“She thought it was just what he would want,” he said, “i.e. the perfect gift for the Season of Love.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, suddenly feeling the need to suffer for humankind.

“Oh,” he said, “that’s not all.”

“There’s more?”

“I didn’t ask her, but she told me anyway.”

What better way to celebrate the birth
of the Prince of Peace? - C.W.



“Told you what?”

“What her brother was getting her for Christmas.”

When I didn’t say anything , he continued, “One of those Glock handguns.”

“I see,” I said.

“So,” he went on, “she could shoot herself the first ni…”

“That’s enough,” I said. “I get the picture.”

He leaned back. “Speaking of Christmas presents, though, have you ordered my copy of ‘No Country for Old Men,’ yet?”

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Also see www.wattensawpress.com and www.deltadreaming.blogspot.com/
- C.W.