Re-Roasting a Christmas Chestnut

I tell this tale every year and will continue to do so even as they lock me away in the home. I've taken to calling it: 

Bill's Christmas Story

If you've never visited this space before today, I have a treat for you (sort of). If you're more of a regular guest, I don't know what to say except maybe better luck tomorrow. 

I offer this tale every year (updated) on this date to the annoyance of my spouse, about whom it is, and the possible embarrassment of my children, because I like to get a rise out of them. 

I originally called it Christmas is all around but you may have a different title by the time you finish reading it (assuming that you do). 

I have a quite lovely black and blue on my upper left arm where someone decided to pinch me not because we have a Christmas tradition like that in my house, but because some of us think we do. 

It's a perfectly logical consequence in a relationship that began forty-eight years ago on Christmas Day which was when I first spoke to the person I was to marry. 

I'd note I haven't had much gelegenheit to speak since then, or to get a word in edgewise, but that would probably earn me a matching black and blue on the other upper arm.

I had seen the woman on a number of previous occasions, but could not work up the courage to speak to her. Nevertheless, I knew with absolute certainty I would marry her though if I didn't solve the 'haven't talked to her yet' obstacle, it would be tricky. 

Me and my friend Chris, thick as thieves then and now despite half a continent's distance, had gotten a headstart on the Christmas Cheer and had been downing it by the glassful for hours as we made the rounds in the Frankfurt am Main party district, Sachsenhausen. We probably weren't the only lost and lonely people, swarming like flies, but I believe we were two of the better lubricated.

At some point, we came to be in Old Smuggler's a bar near Eschenheimer Tor in mid-town am Main (great restaurants, terrific shopping, none of which we had any interest in). Chris and I were toasting NATO, the North Atlantic Treaty Organization as we'd concluded it was in support of the Alliance that he and I found ourselves on the cutting edge of the sword of freedom, not that either of us could actually utter that turn of phrase at that point in the evening.

I got much drunker much faster than Chris, who did a very good job looking out for me which is always necessary since once I got my drunk on I was even more of an ass(et/hole) than when I'm sober. I stopped drinking not because I suffered from alcoholism (I enjoyed it a great deal) but because I got tired of getting the snot beaten out of me mostly by inanimate objects that snuck up and tackled me. To this day, the only chair I trust is the one I'm sitting on, and only when I'm sitting on it.

Through a very crowded Christmas night came this woman who wanted to share our table and whom, in my liquid state, I felt should sit on my lap to save space. When she agreed, I knew it was now or never. (I was successful at falling in love. I hadn't been successful at staying in love. So far). 

Chris assures me I was very suave when I said to her, 'now that you're sitting on my lap, don't you think you should tell me your name?' Okay, not how Shakespeare scripted it, but, remember, it was a long time ago.

As I munched on some mandelspekulatius today, my second-favorite Christmas memory of Germany, I tried to imagine how events had to happen in just the order they did for her and me to meet when we did as we did. 

My brain hurts, nearly as much as my arm, and again I concede the limitations of a liberal arts education because I lack the mathematical wherewithal to pull off the arithmetic to do the figuring. I just accept some things on faith and how I met your mother is one of those things without question or quibble.

There is a reason for everything we do and everything we fail to do. And as much as I love the 'we're prisoners of an indifferent universe' state of mind, I don't buy it.

Hold on and hold out. 

It worked for me and I would hope for no less than the same for you.

Love is always a gift, as it can never be earned and this is the season of love and gifts. Happy Christmas!

-bill kenny