Christmas Eve was nice. I made gingerbread using the dark dark honey from Mali. Consequently the gingerbread had a distinctly deep and exotic taste.
We were feeling really mellow so we decided not to attend the party we were invited to. Instead MoBob read out loud the French version of Sura 19, Mary in the Koran. A nice tradition - and I like to think that the lyrics of "We Three Kings of the Orient" included someone from MoBob's tribe.
Then we ventured out into the crisp night and walked to St. Peter's, the Catholic church across from the Library of Congress. I haven't stepped inside a Catholic church in the US in years, let alone for Midnight Mass. It was beautiful, although I was a little surprised that there were few people of color; I was used to the multicultural congregations in California. (Presumably it's different in the 'burbs.) There were some new touches - an altar girl for one, and spiffy red missals/hymnals - but twelve years of Catholic school were more ingrained than I suspected as I was able to recite most of the Mass. When we got home we opened our presents. I know now that asking MB "Who wrapped my present - Godzilla?" was not an appropriate response.
We slept in on Christmas Day and then headed to a friendly family's house where we ate some more, sang Christmas carols with gusto, and MB generously assembled all the complicated gifts.