On the eve of the New Year, I closed the lighthouse and went to the village to attend a friend’s house party. The house is older than the lighthouse, dating to the 1850s. I remarked to Tina, the homeowner, that the antique red wallpaper made the house look like an old bordello. She replied, “No, the historical house of ill-fame was three doors over on the corner.” Tina made sure that everyone danced, so much so that we lost track of time. As tradition dictates, this New Year’s Eve entry rhymes (sort of):
Our countdown missed the mark once again, out of sync with our contemporaries who slice time into milliseconds and nano’s. So what if we were a little bit late with Auld Lang Syne and Feliz Ano Nuevo? Friends mark their own time by serving up good food and stories potluck-style. Oh yes, everyone has something to offer–new friends and old ones I haven’t seen in awhile. Homebrew beer, venison stew, loaves of bread, and with luck of the draw, we find redemption through holiday fruitcake. So, I don’t consider our tardy countdown a mistake. We were having so much fun dancing salsa that we lost track of the time. As far as I’m concerned, it’s just another number, another year in need of a rhyme.