Every day I have a moment where I marvel at what I’ve accomplished that day and, depending on the day, that feeling is either preceded or followed by the thought that I haven’t done nearly enough. Of course, that can be true of a week, a month, or an entire year. It is never enough AND it’s too much, which is how this year feels too.
There is always an AND. Both things are true.
I feel proud that I wrote 17 entries and a dozen or so poems that I felt were shareable. I feel bad that I only wrote 17 entries and that I didn’t get to write in December. But I did A LOT. For example, I wrote new exams for my English classes and I’m almost finished with my first quilt! Which is like a poem, only with more instructions. I watched movies and listened to podcasts while I walked the dog every day and I read…something and got presents for three kids and my family and then put all of that stuff away.
Oh, I found a new brand of party ryes to make Hanky-pankies! I had a goetta casserole ready for Christmas morning (colloquial cuisine being the tradition). I hosted Christmas Eve and Day parties and everyone in my family had clothes ready for the occasions- even an extra shepherd costume that I’d rushed out to buy when we were informed 3 days beforehand that it was needed. No sooner did I walk in the door, triumphant in my purchase, than my son said, “I don’t need one! My teacher gave me my costume today!” I’ll spare you the details of losing that costume and then finding it again just in the nick of time. It was exciting though.
All that to say, I survived (and of course thrived - in moments-) December. But I didn’t get a poem out of it. Not yet anyway.
So this is just a quick note to say thank you for reading this thing. It means so much to me, truly. I’m honored AND I’m humiliated. But something in me wants to write for an audience. It just gives it reason. It makes me work at it. It’s challenging. So I appreciate your taking me seriously - but not too seriously and listening and responding sometimes and hitting the little heart button or saying you like it. It’s really nice.
And nobody wants to hear about my resolutions, right? Or how fat I feel after a week of parties that consisted of heavy appetizers and the gamut of alcohol from champagne to schnapps?
No.
But shall I tell you, real quick, about our marathon night at the pianola? OK, that’ll sum up a few of my other entries from 2023.
A few days ago, while my brother was still in town, we got together one more time. We finished the Prosecco. My brother played Ravel on the good piano upstairs and then we went downstairs to the player piano and got to work. We sang all the big medleys - the Sweet Charities and Sound of Music and Showboats and everything from “Girl from Ipanema,” to “Those Were the Days” (RIP Normal Lear) and more until I was nearly hoarse.
But we needed to end on the perfect song, so we started looking for Auld Lang Syne, which, everyone knows, is at the end of the Christmas medley roll. We know this because Grandma always told us how she used to have the roll pumped to just the spot where Auld Lang Syne would begin. Then, close to midnight, they would begin to perform a New Year’s play that she wrote, which was timed to the second to bring in the New Year. Her brother would appear at the bottom of the steps dressed as a New Year’s baby and the piano roll would play for all to sing.
That, my friends, is a level of commitment to partying that I will treasure. Those parents to the baby boomers sure knew how to party and I take the challenge to be a good host and guest very seriously.
A million years ago AND yesterday, I hosted a Y2K party in my grandparents’ basement for my college friends. The most memorable moment of that evening came far after midnight, as the excitement was waning and it turned out the world hadn’t crashed. People were lounging here and there and I played Danny Boy on the player piano and even though I was just pumping my little feet, my friend (and co-party planner) lifted her head off of the booth table and said, “Jodie, that is the most beautiful thing you have ever done.”
So it has to be a tie between Danny Boy and Auld Lang Syne for end-of-night songs. Either song is one of ANDS and Both-things-being-true: Remembering and bidding farewell. Beauty and Sadness. Gratefulness and sorrow. Love and loss. Letting go and holding on forever.
I hope you end it on a good one. (Maybe this year it’s a waltz. Today’s date, is 123, 123!!)
All the best in 2024 and thanks again.
Well done! Can't wait to read 2024!
Have a creative 2024.