It was the best New Year’s Eve in a long time. We spent most of the long weekend reading: I was reading a book about the 1914 murders at the Frank Lloyd Wright house in Wisconsin and even before it got to the grisly part I was digging all the backstory about what a tool Wright was, what with his free-love ways and “knee-panties and long hair” (actual primary source quotation!) and whatnot, and Chris was finishing up The Golden Compass so we could see the movie. Monday afternoon we went out to a very late breakfast and then braved the holiday clusterfuck of a moderately Bad-Times Jewel to stock up on beer and food. And then, for New Year’s Eve, we had a dozen or so friends over for drinks and assorted video junk and peppermint pig bludgeoning (many thanks to Brenda for bringing the victim) and glimpses of fireworks off in the snow-hazy sky beyond our back porch. When everyone had gone home we turned out the lights and looked out at the street and the trees bright with snow.
Then we slept good and late on New Year’s day, and took the train over to see the movie (and since then we’ve been considering daemon logistics, like what if your daemon was a Clydesdale or a planarian flatworm, and how inconvenient that would be), and then home again to make some Hoppin’ John with kale and cornbread, hoping all the while that the rewards of Southern culinary superstitions are valid for us pasty Midwestern crackers, too; and then one last drink before bedtime to consider whatever’s ahead.
Hope it wasâ€”and isâ€”good for you, too.