Noche Buena

 It's funny -- growing up on LI, my Christian friends made a bigger deal about Christmas Day than Eve -- except maybe the Italians. My friend Debbie was of mixed parentage -- Irish Mom and Italian Dad -- and her paternal grandparents were old school -- they would host an amazing get together with plates of delicious food -- mostly seafood -- and I still remember that feast nearly 50 years later.

One year I went to Midnight Mass with Debbie, and I knew enough to not kneel, and as I looked up at the huge statue of Jesus, just kept thinking of the joke about the Jewish juvenile delinquent who failed reform school and jail, only to straighten out when his Jewish Mom relented to the pleas of her friend Mrs. O'Leary and sent him to Catholic School -- young Joel came home an angel. When asked why, he said "I looked up and saw what they did to that guy on the cross, and I knew THESE GUYS meant business!"

My youthful Christmas Day memories were mostly centered around my brother in law Dennis's parents' house in Levittown -- and sometimes a moveable feast to his lovely aunt and uncle Betty and Bill. Dennis's younger brother and sister, Michael and Kathy, would be showered with Christmas gifts, and I would get maybe one sort of consolation gift.

I remember whining about that to my Mom on the way home, and she answered "David -- you get gifts ALL year -- not just one day. You are NOT deprived!" I sort of bought that, but to an 8 or 9 year old, it felt being deprived.

Maybe that contributed to my later on not only not wanting stuff, but actually being revolted by it. Unless it's Stoli Elit -- I always like getting a bottle of that...

In Miami, I've been invited to several noche buenas, with caja chinas (Chinese boxes) roasting whole pigs. Those are fun -- the men standing around the pit, drinking Heinekins (not sure how the Dutch beer became the cerveza of choice) and then later singing and enjoying the feast.

This year, none of that for us -- just scrambling to find boarding for the Special Needs Spaniel. Wifey thought our long time housekeeper Miriam would move here and watch him, but last night she texted us in Spanish to beg off.  

D1 told us of a boarding place named Pet Lodge, and Wifey called, and was unable to deal with the owner since "I don't understand accents." I grabbed the phone and learned that indeed this may be a solution. 

I just want no tensosity before our trip. Ha. I also want to be Tom Brady sometimes -- that's not happening either.

But assuming the one living creature we have responsibility for is accounted for -- then we can fly to San Juan. And I am CONVINCED that Bo is our , at least MY, last non granddog dog.

So Ebenezer Dave bah humbugs into Xmas...