Merry Christmas!

I think it’s patently unfair that I get strange looks from the wait staff when I ask for vinegar for my fries, even in publike restaurants where it should be expected. I just thought I’d throw that out.

Ooh it’s cold this morning, but clear so there’s no discernible chance of snow. This is okay until tomorrow afternoon, when snow is required. I also thought I’d throw that out, in case God is listening. Or Santa… I’m not quite sure who I should be petitioning for Christmas snow.

I’m still making lists and checking them twice. I’ve got to plan Sunday’s menu and mostly, write out the ingredients so Scott can shop for them. We have a nice setup: he shops for holiday meal ingredients, and I toss them together to form the actual feast. This happy agreement is the result of a major tantrum I threw years and years ago, one that actually stuck, though in retrospect I should have included dish-doing in it, as that remains a somewhat murky area. I also need him to buy a present I forgot to get him, one that was high on his list, but I don’t think even I am cagey enough to figure that one out. I’ll send Jess, who’s such a newbie at personal freedom he doesn’t mind the holiday crowds.

This is the point before the magic of Christmas morning gift-opening at which I start to panic that I don’t have enough, or the correct, presents for my kids. It’s an annual emotion and I’ll just try to soldier through until Sunday afternoon when I can feed them cheesecake to ease the pain.

The house is all a-twinkle with lights this early morning; I have eggnog for my coffee; personal slaves to run my errands; big warm labs to cuddle with - oh, and Scott; amazing books waiting in a stack to be read; ditto movies to be seen; and the anticipation of ham and scalloped potatoes et al for Christmas dinner. Of course, we’re having Chinese on Christmas Eve, what else? We’re such devotees of Shanghai Express that last week the owner gave us a little ornament for our tree, which I thought was especially thoughtful, as they’re Buddhists and could give a rip. One-timers and regular run-of-the-mill customers also got ornaments, but they were pity gifts, I could tell.

Oh oh, that was a perfect segue into a little exchange I wanted to share with you, from David Sedaris’s book Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, which I devoured yesterday. He begins, “I am reminded of a conversation I annually hold with my friend Ken Shorr”:

Me: Did you get your tree yet?

Ken: I’m a Jew, I don’t decorate Christmas trees.

Me: So you’re going to go with a wreath instead?

Ken: I just told you, I’m a Jew.

Me: Oh, I get it. You’re looking for a cheap wreath.

Ken: I’m not looking for a wreath at all. Leave me alone, will you.

Me: You’re probably just tense because you haven’t finished your Christmas shopping.

Ken: I don’t Christmas shop.

Me: What are you telling me? That you make all of your presents?

Ken: I don’t give Christmas presents period. Godammit, I told you, I’m a Jew.

Me: Well, don’t you at least need to buy something for your parents?

Ken: They’re Jews, too, idiot. That’s what makes me one. It’s hereditary. Do you understand?

Me: Sure.

Ken: Say the words “I understand.”

Me: I understand. So where are you going to hang your stocking?

~~~

Peace and good will, you guys. I love you and will see you Monday! xo