The Long Christmas Dinner
A glass of champagne is probably the cure for just about anything. It sure made me feel a lot better yesterday. I was exhausted from working twelve hours on Christmas Eve, and by early afternoon the was an intermittent pain in my head and an unpleasant brew simmering in my belly. Up too soon, too much coffee, too much excitement. But I'd accepted the invitation and wasn't inclined to back out – I'm still sad at having missed Christmas dinner last year at Pat's house, because I miss her so.
The glass of champagne was in my hand minutes after I arrived, and dinner followed soon after, with much conversation, very little of which I was required to participate in. A lovely meal, and the other guests were congenial, friendly strangers. I enjoyed myself thoroughly, and was happy to excuse myself.
But I ended up at another Christmas dinner. I dropped in on my “drop-in” friends, and they were just getting ready to sit down. Not wishing to offend, I took a little more nourishment. Daughter was planning next year's Christmas menu, mother and aunt were carrying on some entirely separate dialogue, Dad and I offered asides, interjections, and irrelevancies, and Grandma complained merrily to herself about all the things in her world which were wrong. There were two pies. I left shortly after the video began, shivered in the car under the pale selenic beams, and got home after the day was spent. And so to bed!
