Hannibal's Elephants

Took myself to a State of the Union Watch party last night, walking the mile and a half past a park filled with ten-foot high, snow pillars in preparation for the weekend's snow sculpture competition.

Immediately, I called my son, who earlier in the month had stood for hours in zero degree weather watching a block of ice evolve into a rhino. "Remember how in 'Lost,' one of the characters was staring at a metal door and talking about how Michelangelo could see “David” in a block of stone. It’s just like that with these ice pillars. You can almost see what's about to come out.”

"Good," said my son. Then he added, “Bye.”

Brevity is my son's trademark when he's at his dad's. I've come to expect it. Still, I continue to call. After all, change is always lurking in the background and I don't want to miss it if it happens.

A dozen of us had signed up for this State of the Union party. Except for the host and her son and daughter-in-law, no one knew anyone. Still, the conversation was lively and the snacks, delicious. The host had set out green grapes and French cheeses. One guest baked chocolate chip cookies. An intriguing, dark-skinned man brought cashews. It almost felt like we were family, gathered around the living room TV waiting for Bing Crosby to sing his way through "White Christmas."

After the speech, I made my way over to the cashew man. He told me he's from Tunisia - the country which Hannibal crossed on his way to battle the Romans, employing 300 elephants.

"Amazing. My son was just talking about how elephants were used in ancient wars," I said and eagerly, jumped into the conversation. Until, that is, a woman with a long ponytail joined us. Straight-away, Mr. Cashew told her he's from Tunisia, then started in again about Hannibal and his elephants.

Definitely, it's a good story. But I didn't stay to hear it a second time. Thanking the host, I said my goodbyes and trundled out the door. Bottom line, I had a good time, plus an elephant tale to regale my son with when he came back home.