New Years Eve. Blah blah blah. It’s 20 degrees below what the fuck?? this morning, and I can’t be bothered. I’ve hated holidays most of my adult life. I feel really introspective about my year in September. This isn’t because I’m Jewish, it’s because I’m yoked to academic calendars still. I feel goopy and romantic with DP at various times, not just mid February. Christ’s birth? Well, let’s not talk about that now.
I see my in-law family over the summer, when they come up and we spend a lot of time watching triplets running around the yard and barbecuing and drinking beer [difficult job, but someone has to do it], and my sisters in March and whenever Cougar can be bothered to fly halfway around the world to see me [note: she’s going to have my ass for that comment]. These are my holidays, really.
DP disagrees. He says that you need something to look forward to when it gets dark at 3 pm. It is no coincidence that he is better at gift giving than I am.
So I am getting ready for our annual Indian buffet. Almost everything was cooked yesterday, because Indian food tastes better the next day. People are going to show up. I will probably be happy to see them. I’ll look at the stars (should it not be snowing) at midnight and then shuffle everyone out and go to bed. I will not have champagne at midnight because it’s always that last glass, particularly of bubbly, that ruins you for the next morning. I do believe there is some maple bourbon left. A much safer choice all around.
(This post, which has nothing to do with her, is dedicated to my mother, who would have been 81 today. 81!)