Christmas Eve day, also known as this afternoon, was spent with Sleepless and Ice Cream Man. We had talked about going out for drinks, but then I decided I wanted to try a few new cocktail recipes, so we met at my house instead.
They arrived to find me doing what most domestic goddesses do on afternoons such as this – don an apron and asses one’s alcohol inventory while enjoying an ivory mocha. “Welcome, welcome,” I told them as they made their way through the front door. “I was just about to make Glögg.” “What is Glögg?” Sleepless asked. “It’s a warm, traditional Scandinavian Christmas drink,” I advised her. Funny how a recipe book and an apron make one feel smart in the kitchen – location, location, location. “Does it have alcohol in it?” she asked while glancing at the wide array of bottles on the counter. “Yes it does – three different spirits to be exact.” “Sounds great!” she replied. To make the day even more special, we opted to use souvenir glasses from bars and restaurants (that clearly don’t have security cameras) we have frequented.
As we enjoyed the Angel’s Kick (or was it Angel’s Kiss?) and the Glögg, we opened our presents to each other. Little Sleep helped with the shopping and selected a shirt for me that read, “No boyfriend. No problem.” In the center was the universal symbol of a man with the universal ‘prohibition’ circle surrounding it. “This is perfect. I plan to wear it to dinner with my parents tonight.” They then left (1970s thermos – my special gift to Ice Cream Man – in hand and full of adult beverages) to attend Ice Cream Man’s family party.
I got the call from my parents that we were going to iHOP with my sister and her kids. “I figure the kids can eat pancakes,” my mom told me. “iHOP? What happened to the Greek burger joint?” I asked. For years my family had Christmas Eve dinner at a local fast food Greek restaurant. Not being wise to the Greek Orthodox beliefs, I just assumed the Greeks didn’t celebrate Christmas and I was extremely appreciative of that because their fries are excellent. “The menu at iHOP has changed,” my mom advised me and continued, “They’ve got quite a few really good items now.” “Hmm, maybe. I really only eat there when I’m hungover and it tastes good then, so, let’s do it,” I told her.
Fortunately, my sister’s neighbors were having an open house and didn’t have the turn out they had expected. They’re from Wisconsin and are used to big, friendly, semi-formal, neighbor and family gatherings – their neighborhood and this state aren’t use to such splendor. They graciously extended an invitation to us (the french toast combo will have to wait) and welcomed us with well-dressed open arms. They were donning dress shirts and pants, ties, and holiday dresses. Not us. Twas the night before Christmas and my Pa was in Tevas (with tube socks, of course) and I was in my no beau no prob shirt. Nothing like new friends to keep life classy.
Like most parties with adults and children, the kids played downstairs while the adults drank and chatted upstairs. My ma and I noticed a bowl of nuts and were reminiscing about my grandpa. He loved to crack nuts and always had a big bowl of them next to him while he watched television. As we reminisced, one of the other guests, who was from China, grabbed the nutcracker and said, “I always want to know what it feel like to crack a nut.” Then she giggled, cracked the nut, popped it in her mouth, and said, “It feel and taste good.” More giggles. “I like her,” I told my ma.
As guests left, the homeowner would make a tutka (paper cone filled with candy) for each child. “Polish tradition,” he told us. Pretty soon, my sister and her kids said goodbye (to us and them), so it was just the homeowners, my parents and I, and the nutcracker and her family. As usual, this type of situation is not too unusual for me. I continued to enjoy the Crazy Christmas Punch with them while my parents, who are non-drinkers, enjoyed other beverages. After a bit, we also decided to head out. While making our way to the door, the homeowner yelled out, “Wait, let me make you a tutka.” Like the kids, I got a tutka – must have been the shirt. New traditions, new knowledge and new people in our lives who, no doubt, think we’re nuts.