Oregon Public Broadcasting

That holiday party can leave you a little sluggish in the morning.  And as OPB Commentator Bob Balmer points out, if you hosted the party, you may have even more to recover from. He brings us a tale of the lingering guest.

The tree lights twinkled as the clock registered midnight.  The dirty dishes were in the dishwasher.  Carols had been sung.  Pie had been served.  I stifled a yawn and scrutinized my guests as one might amoebas under a microscope.  Really, wasn’t it time for them to leave?  Actually, there originally had been eight guests, but now there were two -- a couple.  The man propped on the couch, his head nodding like a bobble-headed doll.  His wife, however, joyfully nattered about buying nylons at two for the price of one.  When she finished this nugget, she stretched and said, “I suppose we should leave.”While I silently sang “Joy to the World”, the four of us shuffled to the foyer.  Once in the foyer my guests put on their coats, and the man grasped the doorknob.  In seconds their headlights would penetrate the darkness.  Then the woman spied a photo of a frothy ocean wave, and she started chatting about shopping at Cannon Beach.  We were in trouble.  She was what I call a Foyer Person, someone who slips on her coat in the foyer and proceeds to converse for an hour.  It was 12:30 a.m. and I had hoped to rise early enough to catch Face the Nation.  Perhaps, I thought, I wouldn’t have to go to bed to do so.But before I continue to criticize my guests, I must confess that I come from a family inclined toward foyer conversations. A quick goodbye in my family consists of putting on your coat, sharing two lengthy tales, offering an extensive update about an aunt that no one cares about and reaching for several hugs.  A stranger watching would think one of us was being shipped to Afghanistan.My father, however, was different.  As a child I watched him hand guests their hats and coats while saying, “Drive safely now.”  Still, even that straight-ahead directive did not always succeed.  Sometimes his guests donned their outer garments and loitered in the hall, regaling him about their latest visit to the podiatrist.As for my guests that holiday evening.  The woman, once out of foyer wall art to comment on, glanced at the Christmas tree.  Then she said, “Your tree’s lights look lovely.”  Quickly, I responded, “Yes, but I turn them off when I go to bed.”The word bed must have penetrated her consciousness.  She studied her husband, whose hand still grasped the doorknob, and said ruefully, “I suppose it’s time to go.”I did not disagree.