Feast Postmortem

The following are a few snippets from this year's Christmas Eve dinner experience:

Everybody, at one point or another, mangling the names of new acquaintances, and then, later, due to too much champagne, mangling them again (and in one case, thrice).

Scoring my favorite part of the turkey – the tenderloin, natch.

An impromptu (and remarkably off key) rendition of “My Favorite Things” from The Sound of Music (you know, “Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens”, etc.) mostly mumbled until the chorus, the lyrics of which everybody knows, if not the notes.

Stilton soup, just like it sounds. If you like Stilton and you like soup, then consider this a little slice of heaven. No lie.

Everybody catching up on everyone else’s news.

The following interchange: My grandfather, who is enjoying remarkably good health in his late eighth decade is engaging in a good-natured comparison of his hearing aids with those of my cousin Belle’s father-in-law, Eugene. The little devices have been dug from their snug homes and are lined up on the table. This is how the brief and priceless conversation goes -
Eugene: Hey, those are good lookin’ earpieces, Jack!
Grampa Jack: Huh? What?

Sampling the champagne (blanc de noir) and the pinot and the riesling and the pale ale.

Two pieces of pumpkin pie, one smothered in real freshly whipped cream, the other with Kool Whip. As far as I'm concerned, the best of both worlds.

Lots and lots of hugs and laughter and comfortable chatter.

Eugene’s titanium arm, almost all the way to the shoulder. He's bionic! Need I say more? The under-5 set was enraptured. Well, if the truth be told, so was I.

Coming back home and hitting the hot tub – a little post feast bloat ‘n’ float.

Truly a warm and wonderful occasion, if I do say so myself.