Posts Tagged With: Celebration

An Old New Year

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Well, it is a new year.  The one thing I like about new years is that they are, even if only for a second, completely perfect in every way.  I have a feeling that 2017 is going to be a hard one, so I was intending to savor the goodness for as long as possible.  We made it longer in perfection than we usually do.  I achieved it for a day and a half before I forgot to do my daily writing and then got into an inane fight with Brian over bookshelves.  I think that’s pretty good.

We celebrated New Year the old person way at my friend Emily’s house – by calling up the ball drop in real time, cheering, toasting, and singing at 9:00.  And then Emily, Brian, and I got to talking and accidentally also celebrated the real New Years at midnight.  It was fun, scrambling for sparkling cider in her kitchen filled with the detritus of the tasty pizza and carrot cake we had just eaten, clinking glasses and singing Auld Lang Syne lustily, but at a volume that wouldn’t wake the children (or Joey who had work early the next day).

It made me think of all the other new years Emily and I spent together.

Especially the one where four of my best high school friends and I went to Knotts Berry Farm with Liz’s youth group.  There was some sort of major Christian rock concert going, which was great with us.  No one was in line for the rides, so we gallivanted across the park riding everything.  In the days before security checkpoints, Emily snuck a bottle of Martinelli’s through the gates in her backpack. She forgot the churchkey.  We struggled valiantly to open the thing without making any headway before we finally managed to borrow a pair of scissors from a vendor.  With much brute strength and (miraculously) no blood, Becca eventually stabbed the metal lid through.  There was cider everywhere, frothing from the jagged opening, covering our hands in stickiness.  We toasted and drank in the night, the lights of the carousel shining over us, the rollercoaster rattling past, midnight come and gone.

And then months later when we all graduated, they presented the bottle to me as a present.  It was mostly cleaned up but the lid still held tight, the jagged scissor opening gaping.  It’s lost to time now. Gone in one of the many moves I made in the mysterious way that happens.  But I remembered it still as we sang in Emily’s golden kitchen this year.  We were, all four of us, such different people back then.  And now we are scattered to the winds; happy, still in touch, still thinking of each other, but hardly in the same city and most of us not even in the same state.

The year rolls forward, though, and so does the changing of ourselves and our worlds.  I know that 2017 will bring bad things.  I just hope it brings plenty of good along with it.

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Holidays

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It’s St. Patrick’s Day here, which is mostly a holiday to drink beer and/or pinch people depending on your age.  I don’t really like beer, nor will I be pinching any of my new workmates, so I think I’ll just celebrate by eating some corned beef and cabbage.  I have been kissed this morning, but not specifically because I’m Irish.  Brian probably needs to do it again until he gets it right.  I am wearing the requisite green, and maybe you could argue that my brown belt is orange-ish for Northern Ireland, where my family is from (yeah, it’s a stretch).

I feel like I’ve been living in holiday world lately.  First it was Pi day, 3/14.  Which, if you really want a reason to binge on pie, is a lot like 3.14, which is the first three digits of the mathematical symbol Pi.  I was listening to the cashier at the grocery store try to explain this to another woman in line, and she was totally unaware.

“Geometry or Algebra?” she said.

“Geometry,” I piped in.  “It’s for calculating circle stuff.”

“Oh.  I’m not good at math,” she said.

“It’s mostly just a great excuse to eat large quantities of pie,” I said.  I didn’t mention that I’m also pretty terrible at math.  I can tell you what Pi is, just don’t ask me to use it for anything.

She laughed.

After Pi Day is the Ides of March.  Which is a holiday to post bad Caesar/stabbing puns.  And today the rivers of Boston are running green.   I’ll wish you a happy Palm Sunday and a happy Spring Solstice this weekend, and next we can all wish each other a happy Easter.

Who ever said there aren’t enough holidays in the world?  You just have to be willing to celebrate the weird ones, I guess.

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Resolve

What is it about the new year that’s so incredibly inticing?  It brings a wash of happiness to me every year as the clock strikes twelve and the bedlam erupts around me, a joyfull din.  I guess it’s that the new year brings so much promise with it, so much hope that the next one will be better than the last.  If I wasn’t afraid of tempting fate, I would say that anything is bound to be better than last year.  I compromised on every deal I ever made with myself, tried to sell my soul for money, almost lost everything I really care about, only to realize that none of this was neccisary in the first place.  Another year older, another year wiser, I guess.

I have a few New-Year’s resolutions this year, and I intend to tell you about them.  I think I will be more likely to keep them if there’s some record of my wishes.  It will be fun to see what takes off soaring, and what falls like a lead balloon.  The only one I can remember from last year was not biting my fingernails, and I accomplished that admirably until E. P.  started up again, and I lost every single fingernail to costuming emergencies.  Oh well, they went for a good cause.

This year I intend to:

  • Keep my car clean.  The poor thing, with a nickname like “trashmobile”, and nothing it can do about it except long silently for the vaccum.  This shoud change.
  • Appreciate the husband more.  He’s really such a wonderful fellow, and I don’t give him nearly enough credit for all his amazingness.  (yes dear, I know Amazingness isn’t strictly a word, Mr. English Major, but it applies to you just the same.)
  • Go back to school for real this time, and not just because my parents want me too, and that’s what girls my age do.

I think that’s just about it for now.  Of course I still intend to work insanely hard and be the best Lead that E. P.  has ever seen, but I like to list tangeable, measureable things as resolutions.  That way a girl can tell if she’s succeeding or not. 

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