Chitter Chatter

He could hardly sit still, and was talking without interruption for the whole time. While sitting at the table his hands were constantly fiddling with spoons and napkins, and when he joined us at the kitchen counter he asked about everything possible and impossible. "What's that?" he said, trying to stick his nose into the simmering pot, only to seconds later ask my mother what she was doing.

Soon it was time to pick up my daughter from the airport, and I decided my mother needed a break from this continuous blabber. So I brought him with me in the car, and then he talked for another half an hour. He commented on people walking along the road, wondered about the mysteries of the seas, and kept going from one topic to another in an endless stream of words.

Up at the airport I almost lost him while checking the arrival times, but I found him on the other side of the hall, looking at the new Volvo on display.

On the way back, we didn't hear that much from the back seat, I guess he was just trying to understand what me and my daughter were talking about. Lots of strange words, hard to comprehend.

Then who is this person I'm referring to? An obnoxious little 4 year old, with a severe case of letter combination? No, this is my wonderful father. He's 81 now, and he's always been a talker. A smooth one as well, I presume. (I have no problem seeing the type of guy I'm attracted to myself. The kind that always has a way with words, always knows how to talk his way out of trouble.) But as my father now is getting older, his ramblings are getting harder to follow, and we'll have to help him stay on track.

Just so you know, I'm fully aware that I'm very much my father's daughter, and I know whom I got my mouth from. I know I easily stray from the point when I talk, but now I see a little hope. I can change this, I can turn this around. Break the pattern. Maybe even keep my mouth shut from time to time.