Happy New Year

Written--January 1967, Yale Avenue--Salt Lake City, Utah

'Twas the day after New Year's,

And it seems all too soon

To stop the festivities,

The crowds and the tunes.

The boxes are piled

From the ceiling to floor,

Such an array of decorations,

There's no room for more.

The fairyland tree that

Stood all aglow,

Now stands on our street

In garbage can row

Gay figures, snowflakes

And twinkling lights,

They're packed away tightly

'Til St. Nick's next flight.

Pine boughs, pine combs,

Ribbon, the like,

The choirs stopped singing,

They all went on strike.

The chocolates, thank goodness

Are now almost finished,

A new diet we're trying,

Two waists to diminish.

The house looks quite bare,

Even sad, I might add,

To lose all its glamour,

The fun times that were had.

We had such a great time,

Our first Christmas as two,

So 'till next year comes calling,

A HAPPY NEW YEAR to you!

*****

Reflections written--January 2013, Waterfield Drive--Sparks, Nevada

Three months shy of our first wedding anniversary, Frank and I made that first Christmas together quite a celebration, hosting an open house in our basement apartment for about 50 friends and family. I baked for a week--cookies, sweet breads, everything served. Looking back, that was remarkable, given that I was so new to cooking, baking in particular, and trying recipes for the first time. There were no mishaps with the food, as I remember. Frank sketched, with colored pencil, a large and whimsical scene of skaters on an icy pond that we framed in pine bough and ribbon to hang behind the serving table in the small nook space where we ate our meals. I filled huge, clear glass brandy snifters with artful ribbon candy--large pieces--from Snelgrove Candy and Ice Cream Shop, framed our wedding photo in pine and ribbon and hung it above the fireplace. A holiday punch, delicious with sherbet and bubbles was served from a borrowed punch bowl. 

In the weeks previous to the holiday, I spent every spare moment making white, crocheted snowflakes, four or five different patterns. And for each mention in the song, "The Twelve Days of Christmas," I constructed a figure using folded white paper and gold trims--tiny beads, braid and lace-like cord, even toothpicks for the "Drummers Drumming" drumsticks to hang, with the snowflakes, on the tree.

On the buffet, were paper choir figures singing "Silent Night", the German text I'd written in Old English lettering floated above the 'choir' amid angel hair. Stockings hung at the fireplace and three whimsical choir boys I'd fashioned from the pages of old magazines stood on the hearth. 

It was a beautiful, floor to ceiling fresh pine that we stationed on a wall we'd covered in red foil paper, whose branches were perfectly balanced with space enough between for my ornaments to hang properly. Tiny white lights--unusual at that time--and lots of them, completed the vision. This was the first thing our guests saw as they entered that room and it drew lots of "Ah-h-h"s. I don't remember the tree topper on that first tree but it may have been the crocheted bells that had adorned the top of our wedding cake. The whole event was a great success, as I remember it. During the holidays, we had another evening with about fifteen South relatives who had not been able to come to the open house. They loved our decorations and enjoyed the cheese ball that has become a Christmas tradition for us. 

We saw the New Year in with other newly married South cousins--dinner, dancing, smothered in crowds and noise. We may have gone out into the madness of New Year's Eve celebrations again, but for the most part, I found that watching the old and spent year become a new and fresh start was a better time at home, or sometimes enjoyed with the Wilkins across the street on Bon View Drive. Pat made the best lasagna! We played games with the kids. When East coast TV's broadcast came on before midnight in our time zone, we'd blow horns, throw a bit of serpentine, pop poppers, say our "Happy New Year" sentiments, as though it were midnight where we were, too. A quick clean up and a short stroll across the street and everyone was settled for the night well before that traditional, late hour!

The South family still holds their reunion on New Year's Day, annually. The menu was the same during my years with this family, always Sloppy Joe's and lots of Jello. Frank's brother use to ask why we couldn't call them "Sloppy Frank's", instead. On this day, it was tradition that the men of the family played a game of basketball before the meal. Two Aunts, Blanch and Valois, always had a program prepared with skits and slide shows and musical performances, some only a family could appreciate, but all-in-all, a fun time.

My 2012 New Year's Eve was spent mostly alone, quietly, an introvert's dream. There was some indulging in a few bites of leftovers that won't appear again for a year, and some snoozing off and on in my favorite chair, with TV and computer mostly tuned out. Some grandkids homecomings, send-offs, and one after-midnight phone greeting brought me back to consciousness. I'd missed the actual stroke of twelve and the dropping of the New York City ball in Times Square once again.