It’s been years since I’ve opened my eyes on Christmas morning to look onto an empty house (cats notwithstanding). I’ve become accustomed to the obligatory cup of coffee (which until recently I’d been ordered to stay away from), listening to the sounds of the season on the radio and finding that one television station still brave enough to stick an image of a log on the screen for 12 hours.
This year there was no tree to drop leaves on the floor of the loft; no phone calls coming into the house. Just a demand from Boomer to feed him (with Ed watching on to see if he’d be successful) and suddenly a realization that I had not bought anything for myself to eat this morning.
Now growing up in the city that never sleeps, the idea that something will be open on a holiday is a given, though it is still not as easy as some would think to find the places that are open. With Bets in Ohio, I was left to figure out a game plan. One hour and an interesting drive through town made me realize that it was even tougher to find a place open in Birmingham.