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Oh, Dem Golden Tones Of Silence (standard:humor, 916 words)
Author: GodspenmanAdded: Feb 18 2018Views/Reads: 439/245Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Silence may be golden but it does not compare to the silver trumpet of grandchildren all talking at the same time.

Last Saturday evening the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage and Yours
Truly were reclining on the living room sofa enjoying our evening cup 
of coffee. It is a wonderful way to unwind after a week of activity. No 
matter how hectic the week was, a few quiet moments with a cup of Joe 
can put everything in perspective. 

After an extended time of silence my wife spoke. 

“Listen. Do you hear that?” 

“Hear what?” I enquired. 

“That. Don't you hear it?” 

The smile on her face indicated that what she was hearing was rather

Well, I strained my ears as if they were corn and I still did not hear a
thing. Usually, I am up on all the sounds echoing throughout our abode, 
mainly because I am the source of most of them, but this had me 
baffled. The more I strained the less I heard. 

“You don't hear that?” 

I put my coffee cup down so I could give all my attention to hearing
exactly what she was hearing. It is a proven fact that women hear a lot 
more than men do. It probably is a genetic thing wives inherit from 
their mothers. The only things men inherit from their fathers are “pull 
my finger” jokes, which only come in handy at family reunions. 

Then, to my delight, I heard it, too. It was the golden tones of silence
whistling through the corridors of our house. Ah, silence, my old 

For the past week that sound was a stranger within our walls. But now,
much to our delight, it had returned and what a return. 

For the past week, all the Snyder grandchildren had invaded our home
front. At last count, there were eight. I can't be sure because several 
of them, I'm not sure how many, were running around so much I could not 
count them. They ranged from 9 months all the way to 13 years. There 
are two girls and the rest are...well, not girls. When someone said 
that boys will be boys, they sure knew what they were talking about. 

It was one glorious seven-day-period of activity, noise and, yes,
something I had forgotten, smells. I can never figure out how something 
so cute and so small can bad. Why is it grandchildren 
always want to sit on grandpa's lap when they are in such a delicate 
condition? Do they think, as we get older our nose goes into 
hibernation? Mine hasn't, yet. Believe me. 

My wife and I tried packing into those 7 days as much memories as
humanly possible. It is a rare time when the grandchildren are all in 
one place – our place. We enjoyed some great times together and went to 
some local places of interest, interest to children. For some reason my 
suggestion of visiting some of my favorite used bookstores did not fly, 
but the beach was a resounding “Yeaaaaaa.” 

So, to the beach we went fully attired in the proper swimming gear. As
the official family photographer, I could not go into the water. I 
actually made that rule up, but nobody objected. Everyone was too busy 
yelling, “Hey, grandpa, watch this,” to worry about my swimming. 

Once back home I broke out my secret cache of water pistols and the
water fight to end all water fights commenced. All I know is that next 
month when I get my water bill I will wonder who in the world used all 
that water. Then, I will smile when I remember how in the world it was 
used. Money well spent, I assure you. 

Now, all of that is memory, and oh, what memories. For months, my wife
and I will say to each other, “Do you remember what Owen said?” Then we 
will laugh again. Or, “Do you remember what Simon did?” And the memory 
will have us in hysterics. 

In some quiet moment one of us will say, “I was just thinking of what

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