New Year’s Eve, 2006. Thinking of memorable New Year’s Eves in the past. Some, I must admit were nightmarish, some not so memorable and some might be called boring by many onlookers were they to “onlook.”
As a kid, I spent most of these special nights with Gram and my cousin Butch while my parents and Butch’s parents went out. Gram, Butch and I played cards or did a jigsaw puzzle and had one or two bottles of pop while attempting to watch one of two TV stations that we were able to almost see clearly on the new-fangled television.. We talked Gram into making rice one night because we’d never had it and thought it would be wonderful. We’d never succeeded in digging to China which we’d tried to do since we were old enough to dig. The rice was a big disappointment as was buttermilk which we thought would taste wonderful as well. Gram let us eat raw pie dough and would make dumplings for us sometimes which she’d plop on top of split pea and ham soup. It was one of our favorites, oddly enough. I guess it was an old German recipe, though she, herself, wasn’t an old German. She also made chicken and dumplings sometimes. I also made them for my family and now my daughter and my younger son make them. It’s no big deal, just brings back warm memories. Food does that, eh?
Moving right along. Then there was the New Year’s Eve of 1958 --- nine days after a party I had where people got a little carried away with the libations. Even so, the party went on for New Year’s Eve but at one point, out of some kind of perceived desperation, I asked Grandma to come over from the other side of the house (a double house) and evict some party crashers. They respected her authority and left. (“They“, being former high school seniors, home for Christmas break). We were mere high school Sophomores drinking some Thunderbird wine and playing post office. My parents now took the key to the liquor cabinet with them when they left the house, leaving us to our own resourcefulness. Since none of us had much money, cheap wine was the best we could do in our endeavor to act like adults did while having a good time. We didn’t foresee the after effects of the Thunderbird or Mother Goldstein wine. Good grief.
Two years later I tried to “come home” again after living in Jacksonville but I was an outsider at a 1960 New Year’s Eve party where some of the same people I’d gone to school with since Kindergarten were all having a great time. I learned that night that you really can’t go home again and at midnight, I was sitting on the steps of St. John’s church, listening to strains of Auld Lang Syne coming from a house across the way. Did I feel sorry for myself? Yes, but it was my own doing and no one else’s. Life had gone on and I hadn’t.
Fast forward to 1962. Camp LeJeune, NC at the Women Marine’s “club”. The ratio of men to women on the base was 40,000/150. All of the 40,000 men weren’t at the club that night but enough were there that I thought my lips would never recover. Imagine, if you care to, being in that much demand simply due to your gender. Phew. It’s a lot to handle.
Blurs of New Year’s Eves since then go through my head. The best times were spent with friends playing Pinochle or Euchre; not bar hopping, driving around on icy roads trying to get somewhere just to stand at another bar or have another toast. Phooey.
Years passed. My children stayed up and had their toasts with punch and served snacks to whoever was at the kitchen table playing cards. Great fun for them. Even as they got older they were still there to join in to say Happy New Year. Quiet times marked by family. Not the times of Christmases past that break my heart when I think of them. Not because they were so bad. but because they were so good, even with all of their shortcomings (and their were many). Most of those dear, dear people are in the cemetery now. Too many died too young and even though I’ve kept Christmas in my heart and with my own children, last week, when I was alone looking at the tree that stood before my daughter’s window, I felt tears on my face. I looked at some of the decorations that had been mine and was reminded that, although I was with my daughter, my sons were too far away to be there -------- more than that though, the tree itself brought back memories of how much my mother loved Christmas and what a big event it was every year. She decorated the tree as if God himself was going to stop by and view it. Every piece of tinsel was hung separately. She tried to have all blue lights but never did get them. Back in the 50’s everyone bought everyone else in the family a gift and Christmas Eve was when we were all together and opened the gifts after Santa visited. The adults would play penny poker after that and argue about who killed Jesus and other relevant things but then most of us would get ready and go to the midnight church services. My aunt Pat was the only Catholic and at that time Catholics couldn’t eat before communion, so she would make up a plate and put it aside until after church. She let her boys open gifts from others in the family but the tradition in her family had been for finding packages on Christmas morning so she and my uncle and cousins left for home first, unless they were already home. In that case my little cousins went to bed. We took turns gathering at each other’s houses, a tradition that stopped when the women in the family were no longer with us.
When I wrote a book a few years ago (a “not to be published” book), I mentioned the treasure of shirt-tail relatives. My definition is people who aren’t related to you but are related to people to whom you’re related. During my life, I’ve been fortunate to know many of my shirt-tails. In my younger years, my Uncle Louie’s brother’s daughter, Eleanor and I were great pals. We played together when she and her family visited Mt. Morris. I went with my Aunt Jean and Uncle Louie to Buffalo to visit Russell, Lena and family a few times and was at my friend‘s wedding. Days long ago --- and now many of those wonderful people are gone too. My Aunt Pat’s sister had three girls who I got to know through the young years of our lives. The oldest was closest to my age and one summer, in 1958, I was able to spend a few unexpected days at their house in Franklinville, NY. I wasn’t prepared to stay, so didn’t have any extra clothes with me, just a bathing suit for swimming in the creek but we made do and it was a great few days. I’ve never forgotten the warmth of the people in that home, on that street and in that town.
As I look at the photo albums and through the yearbooks (spanning from 1956 -1991) I’m sure that the life cycle does what it has always done, with or without our approval. It’s hard to reconcile the facts of life with the wishes and hopes. It’s over in the blink of an eye. So many people I’ve lost track of, including my former step-sisters; people I went through school with; my cousins on my father’s side of the family; people I served with in the Marine Corps ----- too many to wonder about when wondering is what comes naturally. I’ve kept up with some by seeking and finding them by chance. That will have to do for now.
New Year’s Eve, 2006. Thinking of memorable New Year’s Eves in the past. Some, I must admit were nightmarish, some not so memorable and some might be called boring by many onlookers were they to “onlook.”
