Monday – 12/24

Showered before going to bed Sunday night. Woke up early and showered again Monday morning. Wife and I had a lot of ground to cover and a short time to get where we needed to go. Apparently, at some point during Sunday night’s adventure, I agreed to honor the groom by participating in the ceremony — meaning that I had to arrive at the synagogue a few minutes earlier than anticipated and receive instruction from the rabbi.

Readying for Armageddon
Had a few gifts yet to wrap (or more precisely, a few gift cards to inscribe and envelope), so we took care of that first. Packed an overnight bag and a change of clothes for after the wedding. Loaded the car and programmed our destination into the GPS.

Waited for wife to complete her preparations …

And waited …

And waited …

And called the groom to warn him that this very scene will haunt him for the rest of his life. (Not really, but probably should have …)

Finally got on the road with about 15 minutes of play time according to the trusty, all-knowing Garmin. Swore at a few old ladies clogging up the local byways en route. Arrived at the synagogue with exactly 15 minutes to learn my role.

The X-mas Eve Wedding
When I arrived in my suit, two of my guy cousins and the quiet guy from the night before were waiting for me. It was explained that we would be the chuppah holders. Apparently, the Jewish tradition calls for a small tent under which the vows are exchanged, called a “chuppah.”

It requires four men (or women?) to hold its posts. I was one-quarter of the equation.

The ceremony was short and sweet. I briefly considered starting a second career as a professional chuppah holder, given my natural aptitude for the task and my frame’s ideal proportions for pole-holding.

I decided against it.

Now, I have a general rule against eating in mall restaurants. Food courts, sit-downs, buffets … all bad news in my experience. The reception luncheon was to be held at an Italian place called Maggiano’s in the Beachwood mall. For non-Clevelanders, the Beachwood mall (now called Beachwood Place) is supposed to be a fancy mall. You know, Nordstrom’s and Coach and shit.

It’s still just a mall, and I’d never heard of this Maggiano’s before — so my expectations were low.

Wow. We had a freakin’ 10-course meal. And everything was fantastic. Call it a Jewish-Christmas miracle. Or a Hanukkah miracle. It was one of the best wedding reception meals I’ve ever had. And I’ve already admitted bias against mallstaurants.

We’re talking three appetizers, five main courses, numerous side-dishes and two desserts (the tiramisu was a killer). And the bar was open. And top-shelf. THIS is how you do it.

I’d already polished off a few cold Miller Lites when my wife announced that she expected me to drive to my dad’s house in Warren for our Christmas Eve fish-fest. No problem. Then she and my mom returned from the bar with matching dirty martinis.

After I stopped drinking, however, the atmosphere changed a bit. The crowd started to get to me, and by that, I mean the dozen or so children between the ages of 3 and 14 started to get on my nerves.

After three hours of eating and waiting in line at the bar for twin martinis behind grenadine-and-caffeine-addled youngsters ordering Shirley Temples, I’d had about enough. And we had another dinner to eat and another hour’s drive to get there.

After her martinis and Irish-creamed coffee, my wife fell asleep about as soon as we got back to her car. I woke her up a few blocks before we reached my dad’s house and our traditional Feast of Seven Fishes.

The Fish
Safely changed into my regular holiday clothes, I immediately located the cooler of Labatt Blue and Blue Light and dove in. We’d arrived a little late to exchange gifts with my dad and stepmom, and the rest of the family started showing up shortly after we rolled in.

We chatted with all my Italian aunts and uncles and cousins and generally had a great time. My cousins’ husbands all enjoy the fact that I enjoy beer and occasional cigarettes (outside in the garage) both enthusiastically and unapologetically.

We ate and drank and ate and chatted. It was a great time. I’m working on recruiting my cousin Christina’s husband Jimmy for my rock band. I don’t know if he can play, but he’s cool as hell and creative.

Everybody left in groups. It was after nine before we finally had our customary Christmas Eve chat and gift exchange with my dad and stepmom. I took in some new pimped-out Under Armour, which is awesome.

By the time we went to bed, I’d done justice to the cooler of Canadian beer. I’d killed-off the remaining Blue and left only a few Lights. It was a good day.