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| Shh, don't tell anyone. This is last year's tree but looks eerily like this year's tree. |
Don't get me wrong, Val’s dad certainly deserves the most wonderful 70th birthday party humanly imaginable, but hosting it on that day is sort of the definition of “bad timing.” No matter, with the catering genius of Mama Love - the mother of one of our favorite Conservatory alums, Zach Love - and a tray full of the best of the donated baked goods from last night’s after-concert reception, we were able to host dadski’s extended family with pride and panache (FYI we call Val’s Polish parents “momski” and “dadski” to differentiate them from our Filipino “mom” and “dad”).
With the extra couple of hours I save by foregoing a late night commute, I decide to head to bed early. Besides, tomorrow is Christmas Eve and I’m planning to spend the day with a very special someone --- my work computer. That’s right folks, after a whirlwind weekend of parties, concerts and rehearsals, I get to relax for a few hours at my desk high atop Times Square. It may sound like torture to you, but I’ll get to sit in luxurious solitude while surfing the internet and watching Youtube in a deserted office. Heaven.
Monday morning, while the rest of the civilized world is still
dreaming of sugarplums, I’m on an NJ Transit bus into the city. No matter, it will all be worth those few
hours of alone time at my desk. For later today, I know real life will again sink its dual claws of familial guilt and
obligation into my jugular.
As expected, the office is completely empty except for one or two fellow geniuses who have also decided to take a vacation from their vacation. The hours fly by, but before I can get through another webisode of The Walking Dead it's time to clock out. I descend the thirty six floors and exit into Times Square where the cold air slaps me back into reality.
I rush back to my apartment in Queens to pick-up Juan’s Christmas gift. I won’t go into the gory details, but the
store I had ordered his gift from conveniently “forgot” to ship my order. All I have time to do is change my clothes before heading straight back to Port
Authority where I catch a bus back to Jersey.
I arrive at Juan and Val’s house just in time to jump into their car and head to rehearsal. Juan has hired us to fill out the chorus for that evening’s Christmas Eve mass at the Lutheran Church where he is the choir director. We rehearse, perform a prelude concert and make it through the service without any major mishaps.
Before the minister has a chance to chant her last “Amen,” we're back in the car
and heading - where else - to another church. We may worship the same God, but when you’re Catholic,
Lutheran service doesn’t count. With that in mind, as well as a healthy dose of parental guilt in our hearts, it's off to St. Helen's.
By now, the roads are covered in a deadly mix
of slippery snow and slush. No matter, Catholic guilt is way stronger than your basic human survival instinct, so risking life and limb, Juan slips and slides the car into a parking space. We push open the church doors just in time to hear the choir singing the final chord of
the prelude concert. I'm guessing the median age
of the St. Helen’s choir hovers around 110. It sounds as if the whole group
is harnessed into one of those old-fashioned weight loss machines that straps
around your love handles and attempts to jiggle your fat away. In the car home from the service, Juan, Val,
Trish and I make an oath that we will smother one another with a pillow before
allowing one of us to perform with a crazy-ass wobble. The mass is finally ended and we go in peace to love and serve the Lord (that's an inside joke for all you Catholics). It's still snowing, but we make it home safe and sound. Christmas Eve 2012 is now almost a blurred memory. As the siblings and parents rush to secret corners of the house to finish wrapping gifts, I head upstairs and stumble onto the foam pad on the floor I lovingly refer to as "my bed." I've traversed two states and crossed both the Hudson and East Rivers twice today.
“Wake ahp. Eets time
for brake-fahst!” I hear Antonia Banderas calling for me. Am I dreaming?
Has my secret Christmas wish come true?
He continues yelling up at me until his voice slowly morphs into my mom’s
Filipino-accented voice demanding we come downstairs for Christmas breakfast. It is then that I remember that the priest at
St. Helen’s, Father Jose (no joke), sounds eerily like Puss in Boots from Shrek. Disappointed, I head downstairs for scrapple
and eggs with the family.
Following breakfast, we gather in the living room and
exchange gifts. I make out pretty well -
some nice sweaters, a couple of DVDs and a combination speaker/charging station
for my iPhone. The big surprise is for Juan
and Val. This year, me, Gerry and Trish decided to
save up and help pay for some of the medical costs associated with Val’s pregnancy treatments.
As expected, along with our gift checks come Val's hysterical crying, but we are prepared and casual ignore her.
What we hadn't prepared for was the appearance of Magic Mike. He made such an impression on me, that I gave him his own blog entry.
Anyway, after finally wiping the image of Matthew McConaughey's butt cheeks from my memory, I settle down for a long winter's nap. When I wake, I head to the kitchen to help Val prepare Christmas dinner.
Like this year's post-Thanksgiving "Thanksgiving" dinner, this year's Christmas dinner came pre-packaged and ready to re-heat. No regrets here. Delicious.
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| The Pinedas and Sierackis Christmas dinner 2012 |
Leaving no time for the tryptophan to take effect, I pack my bag and head for the bus stop to grab the late NJ Transit bus back to the city. I need to sleep in my comfy bed tonight so I'm well rested. I have another hot date with my work computer bright and early in the morning.
Merry Christmas!
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