For the past decade or so I’d managed to keep a grand tradition alive. Ok, maybe not so grand. But really, um, nice. Each Christmas Day/Evening I would go out, with friends and/or family. To dine at one of the few open restaurants…and catch a movie afterwards. Some years the meals were better than the movie, and vice versa. Films viewed in Christmas past include “The Full Monty“, “Cast Away” (I didn’t pick that one), and “The Royal Tenenbaums“, among others. Meals have usually been Indian, Chinese, Vietnamese, Thai or Middle Eastern. Not so this year. J and I didn’t have much of a plan. We were sort of plodding through the days prior to the holidays. And then so preoccupied we didn’t have time for much discussion. But we knew that many of the regulars would be out of town. Two favorite friends decided to take a much-needed break in Chicago. And some of the little man’s paternal family are in Arizona, while others are in the Bahamas or Bermuda or something. So there was no one to hang out with the little man while we did the dinner and a movie thing. But getting takeout and watching a rented movie sounded like a fine alternative. Except that we discovered too late that there didn’t seem to be *any* restaurants open. It was just after 6pm in sleepy St. Paul. I called all the nearby Vietnamese and Chinese restaurants, but to no avail. Getting hungrier by the minute I realized we’d have to make do with the slim pickings in the kitchen. The boys ate a not-so-fine feast of…sigh…cereal. And to J’s disgust I made myself an Elvis-style meal. A grilled peanut butter sandwich (hold the bananas, add jelly). But J still loves me. And I’m going to make danged sure that this doesn’t become our new holiday tradition.