The Mass of Joshua. The day that is supposed to be the node, the turning point of the season of stress portends to be only a hiatus.
Yesterday I endured the extended family gathering, the collection of my nuclear, birth family and the descendants. At least the ones surviving. Who, at times, I envied. Too much EXTRO, as expected. No refuge from the incessant intrusion of drivia (drivel + trivia) whether in the form of alien relatives or just the physical and sonic engulfment by bairns. None of whom come close to speaking the language.
I once rode in a New York City taxi driven by a recent emigrant from the subcontinent. He had no command of any form of English. When I got in the cab he handed me the radio microphone and pantomimed speaking my destination. The radio then warbled a translation to him. When we arrived, after several course conversations over the radio, he spoke into the microphone and the radio told me the dunnage.
Yesterday was like that except without the radio.
I was reminded of why friends are so important: one cannot pick one’s family nor neighbors but can pick friends. And walk away from them. So there was a positive aspect to yesterday.
Today is a – hopefully – slow and silent day. FD SCP and I are essentially on our own. Tomorrow, the legal observation by the Yankee government of the religionist day – so much for freedom of religion – we have to motor to Nawth Alibam’s Shining City on the Hill to family gather with our nuclear family. And at least one of the self-same rug rodents.
I understand why people abuse themselves, even discorporate, this season of year. For many it is the only channel of relief.
And we have yet to face the insanity associated with the arbitrary imcrementing of year number and the actuality of winter which promises to be one tartarus of a doozie.
One of the times I am not happy to be ORF. If I were younger I could take employment far away, perhaps in a country that is too remote to permit holiday travel?