Memories of New Years Past

Tonight is New Year's Eve, and I have the best dates any grandma could have—my 8- and 6-year-old sweeties. I've spent the day doing contract editing for Tyler, broken only to shovel the VeryLongSidewalk that borders my corner lot, and to write this post.

This year—as opposed to years past—I'm okay with having no romantic interest on New Year's Eve—or any other night this past year, for that matter. When I remember catastrophic dates of New Year's Eves in the past, I am grateful for the absolute lack of drama.

In that vein, I share with you my post of exactly two years ago, when I was anticipating leaving Tucson to rejoin my family in Youngstown. It ranks right up there as one of the worst NYEs in my life.

My best NYEs? When I was 19 or 20, Mike Painter (whom I would have married and loved all my life, had he asked) went to one of his Lambda Chi Alpha brother's apartments for a party. Everybody was drinking to beat the band, and we chose not to drink. We spent the evening laughing at everyone making total fools of themselves. The other? That would be 1988, when John and I had been living together for about four months. We hosted a theatre-and-dinner party at the elegant 1905 rowhouse on Lamont St., NW, where we were housesitting. I think the play we saw at Arena Stage was "Six Characters in Search of an Author", then the 15 of us went back to the house for an elegant seated dinner. We were having so much fun, it was a few minutes past midnight before we realized 1988 had gone. Those were the days!

What was your best or worst New Year's Eve?

No elegant dinner for me tonight. Just more precious time and memory-making with my two sweetest babies.

I wish you a memorable evening with those you love.