A Wet Christmas

I have always believed that Christmas should be associated with snow covered quaint little villages tucked away somewhere in the Alps. That’s what a real Christmas is like. Here in California, however, instead of a white Christmas, we usually have a green Christmas, as the hills turn green in the winter after the winter rains. In fact, as I am writing on Christmas day with Winston fast asleep in his crib listening to the raindrops, it is very wet and very green outside.

Earlier in the morning before the rain started, I took him to the nearby playground and Escondido Elementary School. He was so energetic that he walked all the way to the school and then ran around to almost every corner. His nose was still runny, and combined with the rosy cheeks and that crew haircut, he really looked like a country bumpkin boy!

A friend’s family came to Bay Area from Boston area, where we lived for 10 years before moving to California. They spent a few days in downtown San Francisco, and is staying for a couple of days in Palo Alto. Since the nanny is taking off a few days and I have not cooked for years, I was thrilled to find out that Buca di Beppo is open on Christmas Day. In fact, I had wanted to go to a Buca di Beppo in Bay Area since we moved to Bay Area from San Diego. The one in San Diego is always packed and lively and the food is great.

We met at Buca di Beppo in downtown Palo Alto at 11 am for lunch. It was of course Winston’s first time in Buca di Beppo and I think he was fascinated by those photos on the walls, of Maria Callas, Sophia Loren, Mario Cuomo, Marlon Brando, and of course many anonymous people from decades ago looking so cheerful and so Italian! We ordered a ton of food, including my favorite garlic bread. Winston ate his fettucine with such gusto that my friend could not help commenting on how much he ate. Afterwards, we came back to our house and they had some coffee. Their only daughter is already in highschool, and was looking really bored, after almost 2.5 hours of listening to things that she did not care about. Her phone also ran out of battery, so she wanted to go back to the hotel so that her phone could be charged. Indeed I could not help wondering how bored Winston must be if he has to tag along as a teenager to his parents’ gatherings.

We are such delinquent parents that we have not even bothered to set up a Christmas tree or do any decorating inside. But coming next year, when he’s old enough to understand what a holiday is, we won’t be able to escape this duty. And we will probably have to take him to more parties, as well as host more parties.