Sunday, December 25, 2016.
Christmas In Latin.
Our plan for Christmas Day begins with the unwrapping of the single present under the tree, from the Marys to me. It's a "Nespresso" coffee making machine, a gadget that Jude discovered while hanging around in Beverly Hills. I got hooked on the highly flavorful coffees it makes at his house, and I must have talked about it enough that the girls thought it would make a great gift for me.
I told them that it was too expensive, that chicory-blend coffee would certainly not be available for the Nespresso's coffee pods, and that I have nowhere to put the thing in our kitchen. I would later change my mind when I saw how disappointed the Marys were that I wasn't delighted.
I did my Christmas religious obligations last afternoon, singing with the choir. As usual, the Marys did not come along. They now must search for a church at an hour when most parishes are finished for the day. But St. Jane's still had one more Mass. And we arrived on time (something MA is very bad about) and found many available openings in the pews.
We soon learn why: this Mass is in Latin, with all the other pre-Vatican-II rituals. The presiding priest not only has all the Latin down, but he and a small choir sing all the Latin readings. This would be a very long service. MA has much to cook at home. Twenty minutes into the service the Marys leave. I stay because a) I know most of the Latin and thought it would be interesting to sing it and 2) all my cookery is ready to go and iii) I cannot leave in the middle of a Mass. Too many people recognize me. Too bad that one person can't take up the obligations of another in this regard, because I have an extra Mass Attendance note.
The family Christmas dinner is at the home of Mary Ann's big sister Sylvia. It is well-attended by MA's family, especially the little ones who put on a nonstop performance throughout the whole afternoon. Some of these kids came in from out of town, and we haven't seen them in awhile. One of the smaller ones declared himself the host of the show, telling the adults when to clap their hands after the latest gymnastics. It was a laugh riot for everybody.
I keep myself busy carving the root beer-glazed ham. Which, if I say so myself, came out better than any previous. I was then pressed into service carving a turkey from Impastato's. Mary Ann unloaded her half-dozen or so dips and side dishes. Her brother Pat brought in the usual vat of macaroni and cheese. Sylvia had some delicious little crabmeat pastries. Somebody brought a pair of very good pecan pies. I cut away the discolored part of my cheesecake. The rest of it engendered no distress from the eaters, and the cheesecake lovers tell me they find the texture alluring.
Mary Leigh heads back to her apartment when darkness sets in. MA and I head home, talking most of the way about how different all of this is from the twenty-five previous family Christmases. And wonder how it will be to have our first grandchild with us in a couple of days.
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Monday, December 26, 2016.
Nothing Doing On The Air.
When I began my broadcasting career in the early 1970s, radio stations took themselves much more seriously than they do today. Even on a super-holiday like Christmas, the stations' programs would keep on coming as usual, always live, unchanged in content unless it was interrupted by special Christmas programming or football games. I specifically remember hearing talk host Eric Tracy carrying on his WWL program through a 1975 Christmas afternoon. A few years later, I found myself doing the same thing on WGSO-1280.
But those were the days when AM radio was king, and the schedule had to be met. Now, even the powerhouse WWL covers its hours of Christmas-day broadcasting with unhosted Christmas music. One guy was at the station to push the buttons now and then, but otherwise the studios are empty.
So why was I surprised when, at my usual three-p.m. sign-on time, I found nobody at the station? Except that one button-pusher, who told me that my station was running continuous feeds from NBC Sports Radio? I had the day off. My bad for not checking this days ago. Well, at least I hadn't driven into town.
Jude and his family came in that afternoon. It was our grandson Jackson's first visit to New Orleans. I'm sure there will be many more, but he's only one year old now, and moving kids that age around is challenging. The carriage alone is a bother.
MA is thrilled, of course. It's as if she were put on earth to snuggle up with this blue-eyed, red-head baby boy. Who, as usual, took everything in stride--including the flight from Los Angeles. In the rain.
By the time the trio checked into the Southern Hotel in old Covington, the hour was late and there was no restaurant to be found. MA and I had lunch early that afternoon at New Orleans Food and Spirits. (Grilled oysters for her, red beans and sausage for me.) She went to the hotel to find everyone zonked out for the day. We would all meet for breakfast tomorrow.
At home, I fall asleep at my desk while trying to get a NOMenuDaily edition started up for tomorrow. That would happen every day this week. I try to keep my eyes open by listening to Christmas music, but it seems to have become a soporific. I would have been fired five times in the old days.
