Christmas at Georgie’s

We ate Christmas dinner sitting side by side at a table overlooking the ocean at Georgie’s Beachside Grill in Newport, OR. After days of snow and ice, the air had warmed up enough that we just had rain. The sky offered an ever-changing show of white, blue and thunder-gray, and the sea, a froth of white and aquamarine, covered the entire beach. Living here, we often forget to look at the ocean so near our home, but we had plenty of time on Christmas. Until the food came, it was that or look at ourselves in the mirror on the far wall.

One might expect most people to be at home with their loved ones, opening presents, eating monstrous meals, everyone talking at once, but it was just the two of us, plus many other couples and family groups who decided not to cook. Our one expected guest, our son Michael, was still snowed in and couldn’t get here from Portland, and I decided it was not a holiday for me if I had to spend the day in the kitchen.

The “Grill” part of Georgie’s name is a misnomer. Located next to the Hallmark Hotel, it is an elegant restaurant with white tablecloths, crystal glasses, candles, staff in white shirts and black pants, soft music, the whole bit. For Christmas, one could have anything on the regular menu, but the specials were the best deal. For $18.95, we got plates loaded with turkey, ham, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy,sweet potatoes and green beans almondine, followed by our choice of a four-berry cobbler covered with vanilla bean ice cream or a chocolate lava cake. We walked out of there so full it hurt. We didn’t need another meal that day. We just nibbled on some of the many cookies and candies sent by loved ones.

While we were filling up on actual food, our dog Annie was eating half of her brother Chico’s red collar. We’re talking thick, heavy-duty stuff. Upon arriving home, we realized Chico was naked. I soon spotted half of his collar on the grass. Luckily it was the half with the buckle and tags. Poop-scooping over the next three days showed us where the other half went. Annie. It didn’t seem to bother her.

Enjoy the rest of the holidays, and, as I keep telling the dogs, “If it ain’t food, don’t eat it.”

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Author: Sue Fagalde Lick

writer/musician California native, Oregon resident Author of Freelancing for Newspapers, Shoes Full of Sand, Azorean Dreams, Stories Grandma Never Told, and Childless by Marriage. I have published hundreds of articles, plus essays, fiction and poetry. I teach writing workshops and offer individual editing and mentoring. I'm also pretty good at singing and playing guitar and piano.

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