Another Year, Another Lump of Coal

Well, another year has run its course. Overall, I have to agree with the consensus that 2008 has been a bitch—with a sweet side of course, on which I have decided to focus herewith. Our darling girl joined us at the very end of 2007, and it has been a joy spending pretty much every one of her waking hours with her. And Henry’s made the transition from toddler to full-fledged fledgling. I’m proud to say I was an early Obama supporter and delighted that he took it all the way. I know it’s sappy but I swear I start tearing up every time I see him on a magazine cover in the checkout line. Also on the upside for 08: hate to admit, but have been loving reconnecting with people from various chapters of my personal history on facebook.

I’m interested to see what 2009 will bring (besides my 20 year high school reunion--yikes!). I spent all of the past year with someone attached to my nipple. (I even brought her along to a meeting with a magazine editor in the fall.) While I’m not planning to up and ditch her or anything, I can say I’m looking forward to more independence and, possibly, a new job/career.

As I look back, it occurs to me that I’ve had the good fortune to celebrate New Year’s in some pretty interesting places (although not necessarily in the best of spirits). Let’s see--there was Barcelona (fighting with a girlfriend), Budapest (fighting with a boyfriend), Sag Harbor (fighting with a boyfriend’s irritating friends) and more harmonious celebrations in Glasgow and of course Paris and New York. For the past few years, we’ve been staying local and keeping it pretty quiet. My usual babysitter (grandma) has a far more active social life than I do and she’s usually made her plans for the 31st well in advance, so I don’t even bother asking. All I can ask for these days is a bottle of Champagne, something decent from Netflix and that nobody comes down with a stomach virus. If we manage to stay up past 10:30, I’ll consider that a bonus.

So, I’ve got a massive pork loin in the fridge waiting to be roasted (or massacred as the case may be). We’re all about the traditional southern New Year’s Day meal around here: pork, greens and black-eyed peas for good luck and prosperity. In honor of our roots in Northern Ireland, we also practice first-footing, which dictates that in order to have good luck in the year to come, the first person to cross our threshold must be a dark haired man. If our first visitor happens to be a blond/redhead/female, he or she needs to come in with a lump of coal (for a warm and happy home). Apparently in the UK, visitors actually travel with their own coal (and booze), but we’ve got a loaner lump at the ready since most of our friends and neighbors are oblivious to this tradition.

I’m not much on resolutions, but I have come up with a few guidelines for the coming year: more wine, less whining; more yoga, less fretting; more compost, less garbage. More snogging, blogging and possibly jogging. And fewer paper towels.