A Christmas Memory

A long time ago on a Christmas day,
My husband and I, on a trip, away
From New York’s always-open status,
Got some advice, which was offered, gratis.

We’d asked the hotel clerk if he’d recommend
A restaurant nearby where we’d hoped to spend
A few passing hours by candlelight,
Two non-celebrants on a Christmas night.

The clerk was astounded and with harsh gaze,
Said something like – pardon the paraphrase –
“All restaurants far as the eye can see
Are closed today, and that’s how it should be,

‘Cause everyone has cause to celebrate.”
Our question did nothing but aggravate.
So dinner that night was a chocolate bar,
Some apples and wine we had in the car.

We ate and drank, settled beside the fire;
Turns out that much else we would not require.
And next day we woke at the crack of dawn
And indulged in a true breakfast marathon.

I remember this day almost every year
And several things jump out at me real clear:
The clerk was so wrong, because on this date
There are many folks who do not celebrate.

And in New York City, they hear our voices,
So we do have quite a few restaurant choices.
I also realize that when you are young,
And circumstances cause you to be flung

Beyond your control, you will get right through,
Especially if there are two of you.
Years later, I smile as I do remember
That New England trip in a cold December.

Wherever you’re eating your Christmas meal,
I hope that there’s love in your heart to feel.
If you’ve someone to share it with, you’ll be fine,
Even if it’s some chocolate, fruit, and wine.