The Rest of Us

I love seeing the Facebook posts by friends this time of year:  their lit Christmas trees, gathering of relatives, children tearing open wrapped presents, Santa hats on the pets, elves on the shelves, etc.  It's all very jolly.

And then there are the rest of us.

At no other time of the year are we as challenged to be happy.  (The fact that this occurs during the darkest time of the year is no accident.)  Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Joyous Noel.  I have been known to request that people have a Moderately Content Day, but the pressure is on to be merry, happy, joyful . . . and to count our blessings by the number of people gathered around our dinner table or the number of gifts under our tree.

In my house this year, we numbered three.  And while we love one another dearly, we certainly did not live up to the quintessential Christmas family gathering.  There was no roast ham or turkey baking in the oven, the fact that two-and-a-half of us are vegetarians notwithstanding.  What did I make for Christmas dinner?  I made reservations.

Before you judge, this was definitely the first time I've done this, and most likely the last.  It seemed like a good idea, a way to take the sting out of my son not being home for Christmas.  So off we went, to an upscale restaurant which a friend had told me would be beautifully decorated and very festive and also, on the expensive side.  Whatever.  I was prepared to pull out the credit card if it meant not having to cook.

I cannot attest to the beautifully decorated part, as we were seated on the stage of the bar area.  Not a decoration in sight.  I was seated against an uninsulated window and stared at a giant MOONSHINE sign.  I decided not to be the squeaky wheel, suck it up, and enjoy a dinner.

There was not a single vegetarian option on the menu.  But I'd been told that I could tweak anything on the menu and the chefs would oblige.  So I ordered a "vegetarian plate" which, I was told, consisted of vegetables piled onto red quinoa.  Now, I know I could pull that off in my own kitchen and it would be to die for, but what I got was so bland, I couldn't even taste the vegetables.  At $18 for some grain and sorry vegetables, I ate it all.  (My half-vegetarian daughter's sea bass was twice that.)  Paid the bill, left a good tip.

And then I fell.  Not in love.  I fell stepping off the stage.  My foot hurt quite a bit, so I made sure to file a report at the front desk in case I wake up at 3:00 a.m. with a swollen foot.

Today, I am falling in love with the rest of us, the ones who do not have legions of relatives that gather for holiday cheer at some unfortunate soul's home.  The ones who can count on one hand the number of people who give us gifts (or on whom we bestow gifts).  I am in love with those who do not celebrate Christmas but have to endure the onslaught of advertising, unsolicited greetings, and general upheaval that this season brings.  I am in love with the lonely, the sad, the sorry.

Clearly, those are the ones who need our love the most.  For what it's worth, you have mine.