And we call him...

I'm lying in my bed, reading a book that I bought. A orillos del rio Piedra me siente y llore. My dictionary is close at hand, coz my spanish isn't that good yet. But I'm happy that I understand most of it.
The tension downstairs is rising, because today is the 24th of December, and at 12 o'clock this night, a little baby will be born. And after that, we will eat. I'm especially looking forward to that second part, because it's 8 now, and I'm getting hungry. I decide to go down. They must have the same feeling. There might be some snacks. Who knows? Time to find out.

When I come down, I find the room the same way as it has been the last two weeks. If I make a head count of santa clauses, I come at 25. Some are hosted by the plastic tree that has been spoiling my appetite with it's terrible odour lately. It is ornamented with the typical balls and, snowmen, red, blue and yellow lights, and the classical fake snow.
It took me a deep breath to tolerate it for the time being. I'm still a guest in this house, and the people have been so friendly that they invited me for christmas.

No snacks on the table. My stomach rumbles.
'Hi Gilles!, sit down on the couch, we're going to chat a little.' So that is what we do. We talk about christmas, the rituals the tree, of which Marcos, the father is very proud (I confess I prefer the chrismas tree style of my mother), and about the dificult year we all had. Honestly, last year seems to have been pretty tough for everyone. And I'm not even talking about the economy. O well.

Ten O'clock. My stomach is about to implode. I subtly bring up the theme of a pre-chrismas bite, asking if that is not part of the tradition.
It is not.
'So how do you guys hold out till that late?'
'Well, we simply do'
Alvaro, the youngest boy, secretly informs me that he's been snacking a lot in the afternoon. Why didn't I think of that? Too late now.

Eleven. Time for the foto's! Marcos calls out. So here we go. Picture of the family. With me. Without me. Mom and Dad. Mom and the kids, dad and the kids. The group with the christmas tree. Everyone individually with the christmas tree. I'm about to faint.

It is a quarter to twelve when all pictures are taken. The tension rises, it is about to be christmas. We have a lottery about who can put the little boy inside the crib.
Oscar. He seems very happy about it. Laura, the mother, explains me that it's an honour to put the boy in the crib. I ask if it also gives luck for the next year. But no, it does not. Silly me.

We countdown from ten. Merry christmas everyone. Time to put the puppet in the krib. We all kiss him.
And we call him Jesus. I'm starving. A padre nostrum has never taken so long. And champain has never risen to my head so fast. But at 12.15, we finally get to the turkey. O wait, a toast.

'Gilles, we're very happy that you're here with us now, and we hope to see you very often in the next year when you have moved to your new house.'
A slight feeling of guilt
An enormous desire to start eating.

And there we go. Oh how delicious does this turkey taste. Oh bless you christmass tree and little boy in the krib, that you have brought me this dead bird on my plate. And the rice. Never have little white granes moved my tongue so delicately, and with so much grace as in this very moment. And which marvel enters my stomach with that? Is it a ball of tastified gold? Is it pure joy in form? No. It is merely the simple pureness of a finely cooked potato. Who knew that this could be their taste?

I'm out of food before I know it.
'Another plate?'
'Yes, please'
'Some more wine?'
'Sure'
About 5 minutes after this conversation, Laura stands up.
'We have to go to the family' Hurry please. It is now 12.40.
'Drink your wine, we gotta go', says Marcos. Okay then. Slam.

We go to Marcos' parents, where we drink more wine. And beer, and more beer. And while I play footbal with a little Maradona, the grown-ups converse about more serious topics like family members, common friends and job situations.

It is about 6 O'clock when we want to go. But exactly at that moment, the cousin of the family starts intervieuwing the oldest boy about his studies. He studies medicine.

'Is it true you have to cut open real bodies for your practicals?'
'Yes we have to practice various surgeries.'
'And how much blood comes out?'
'A lot'
The overall comfort level of the group slowly drops when the conversation goes deeper. I make an effort not to laugh, but I can't suppres a grin from ear to ear.
What a day it has been. I welcome myself in christmas 2009. Not an average one, but I enjoy it.

Let's go to sleep, Marcos says. And so we go.