A Christmas Miracle

The thunder is rattling my walls.  The snow/sleet is piling up outside.  I am lying prostrate in an envelope of blissful heat, sandwiched between my heated carpet and a quilt from Gramma H, and Picasso, cozy in her fur coat, has declared war on the closed sliding door that is the only thing separating me from The Arctic Tundra, otherwise known as my kitchen.  It's good to be home.

I spent the first week back reestablishing a routine, remembering what's it's like to have to go to work every day, and swapping stories with friends, many of whom sensibly headed south to warmer (and cheaper) countries.  I, opting for the road less traveled and determined to tackle my uneasiness about Tokyo (I mean, where do you even begin in a city like Tokyo?), arranged to dog-sit for the Rogers, family friends and international teachers from Minnesota.

It was bliss.  Pure.  Bliss.  Not only did this house come complete with double-paned windows, insulation, and a Western-sized oven... it also had a cable package featuring such delights as Fox Crime and CNN International.  It's really quite a miracle I made it out of the house at all.

But make it out I did, for better and for oh-so-much worse.  And since it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a story in possession of a good catastrophe, must be in want of a retelling (or several), let me tell you about my Christmas in Tokyo.

The day started innocuously enough.  I woke up, walked Ricky, opened my Halbur Family Secret Santa present, met Creighton who was on his way home for the holidays.  (He left Christmas afternoon, flew for countless hours, and arrived home in time for Christmas dinner.  A little Christmas magic courtesy of the international date line.)  We brunched in Roppongi before parting ways.  He headed to the airport.  I headed home for a nap before setting to the serious business of Christmas dinner.

I had made a reservation for a traditional Christmas dinner, buffet-style, also in Roppongi.  What I had failed to consider was that "reservations required"  restaurants are less for the homeless-at-the-holidays crowd than for too-trendy-to-cook crowd.  I made a mental note to head straight for the nearest British pub should I ever find myself alone in Tokyo on Christmas.  That said, the food was straight up Christmas on a plate, the wine glasses were generous, and Javier, the middle-aged Colombian bartender, was so charming I forgave his initial, "You're alone?  On Christmas?"

Thus far, Christmas had been pretty okay.  As I was unwilling to face the sea of people queuing to get in and out of the Roppongi Metro Station quite yet (not to mention my hopes for a Christmas miracle in the form of the Spanish-speaking waiter with the nice smile magically appearing before me), I went for a wander.


Mental Note #2 re: Christmas alone - do not wander around "festive" places.  If the commercial cheer itself doesn't get to you, the looks of pity from your fellow passersby most certainly will.  I mean, excuuuuuuse me for people watching on Christmas.  After the third smugly WASPy family passed me squeezing hands and exchanging "Isn't it nice that we're together on Christmas?" looks, I actually had a glimpse into the Depths of Christmas Bitterness.  It was terrifying.

Then I realized that I was (clearly) a more interesting person than any of them.  And I got on the metro.



...to be continued another night when it is not 11:20 p.m...