"Touched by an Angel" ... (fwd)

another piece from my weird friend John...


---------- Forwarded message ----------
Date: Tue, 22 Dec 1998 21:17:27 -0800
Subject: "Touched by an Angel" ...


...  or was that just "Touched?"


December 21, 1998

As usual for this time of year, my family had gone out, chopped down a
twelve foot tree and hauled it into the house.  During the ornament
unpacking (which involves about a dozen boxes and at least four trips up
from the basement), we found the traditional tree topper. 

John:  "Look, it's the Angel."

Julie:  "Ugh.  I hate that Angel.  She's ugly."

John:  "This Angel is a departure from middle-American values.  She has
character."

Julie:  "I still think she's ugly."

John:  "Well, she's traditional."

Mom:  "Traditional for *us*.  As I recall, we got that Angel years ago as
a temporary Angel until we could afford a nicer looking one." 

John (swigging another swallow of his margarita):  "Well, since I'm the
one who always seems to decorate the top of the tree, that's what's going
on top."  (Climbs ladder.  Steps on top of eight-foot tall kitchen
cabinets.  Wraps the Angel's legs around the topmost tree branch.)  "She's
ambiguous.  She's got white hair, but a young face."

Julie:  "She's not wearing anything!"

John (looking at the gauzy mini-skirt on the Angel):  "She is, too."


Various tree decorating activities ensue, including a debate about hanging
the Kitchen Witch on the tree and several stealth decoratings (and
undecoratings).


Grandma:  "I saw a flash."  

Mom:  "A flash?  Where?"

John (making a discovery):  "Hey!  Where's the Angel?"

Mom:  "What do you mean?  Isn't she up there?"

John (looking up at the ceiling a few feet above his head):  "She's been
taken up!"

Julie:  "You mean she jumped!  She couldn't handle the pressure!"

John (looking around the top of the tree):  "I'll bet she was pushed."

Mom:  "I'll bet the flash is what Grandma saw."

Julie (not looking):  "I don't see her.  I think this is A Sign."
(rooting through a box of secondary angels)  "John, what do you think of
this Angel?"  (Holds up a white fluffy Angel.) 

John:  "I think that Angel looks like a white handkerchief with a knot
tied for the head."

Julie (pausing):  "Well, yes.  That's what she really is.  But don't you
think she looks nice?"

John:  "I think she represents the secret desire to perpetuate the
spirit/body dichotomy in our society.  And I think this was a plot."

Julie:  "Sorry, John.  The other Angel made a choice."

John:  "I thought Angels didn't have free will."

Julie:  "Nope, they have free will.  It says so in the Book of Job."

John:  "I think you shot her with a rubber band."

Julie:  "I would have used a spit wad.  That's what my fifth graders have
taught me."

Mom (probably looking for a distraction):  "Hey, look at this choir boy.
I'll bet we could . . ."

John and Julie in chorus:  "No!"

Eventually we did find the Angel and place her back on her traditional
limb.  But as I'm writing this I realize that the (traditional) Holy
Christmas Tarantula didn't make it out of her box this year.

Whew!  Just a few more days (and the creche display) to go.