For some reason I thought it would be a good idea to cook Christmas dinner for my roommates and a couple of our friends. In theory the idea was a good one, in reality it may have been my worst nightmare.
The day started off fair enough, we all woke up in time for Christmas Day Mass at The Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine. I used to attend service there but, as it is the “largest episcopal cathedral in North America” it gets a lot of tourist stops. When I was attending, the church was undergoing repairs from a fire. Because of the repairs the chapel space was small and if you were running late for church, as I often was, you end up in the back. In the back is where all the tourists go. Loud tourists, tourists who talk to one another in loud whispers during service. I finally had enough of “If this is a Catholic church then why is a woman up there?” and had to find another church.
We found ourselves at St. John the Divine and to my surprise and delight the renovations were completed and the church looks amazing. It has all of the glory and grandeur of a cathedral again and would definitely give St. Patrick’s a run for it’s money. So we went to church. Then the troops got hungry and tried to find a diner for some brunch. A diner open on Christmas Day? Not so much, this I knew. They were persistant and I was practical. I walked home to start cooking.
Cooking went off without a hitch, a few slight hiccups but nothing disastrous. Until I realized that I didn’t have the legs to my kitchen table. This is a problem, especially when you’ve invited over 8+ people for Baby Jesus’ Birthday party. We’re some clever girls and rigged the table up on some large suitcase and had Japanese-style dining on the floor with some pillows. Again, amazing idea in theory but disaster in reality. Long legs and short table + small-ish pillows and cramped space in the living room=very uncomfortable.
But, it’s Christmas! So we ate, drank, and were very, very merry. Some more merry than others. Dinner was lovely (pat on my own back) I ran out of food. (shame on me) and then went into the kitchen and almost had a heart attack because there were so many dirty dishes. I couldn’t help but to start on them. About half way through the dishes a guest objected to my “working” in the kitchen after I’d prepared the meal and started to work on them. I felt better until I woke up this morning to a gigantic disaster. Too many bottles of wine stacked up against he wall, empty and half empty cans of Coors Light? (who the fuck brought Coors Light into my house!?) Half eaten quarter of a pie, whipped cream cans, napkins, and glasses as far as the eye can see in our itty bitty teeny weeny apartment. And, we ran out of dish soap.
I just got in from work and all looks well. The roommates are sleeping of their all-day hangovers and probably remembering that we’re not 22. I’m in my room all alone thinking of Mirs and missing her terribly. She’s home in Texas with her family. I’m glad she’s there but can’t stop thinking about her. I’m comforted knowing that yesterday was the first and last Christmas that I would spend without her. I’m also comforted knowing that she’ll be back in just two days-and in time to celebrate the last night of Hanukkah with me. I’m comforted in that I know what it’s like to have found that perfect person, and have the feeling of contentment and love, even when they’re hundreds of miles away.