Ok, it happens every year for me. I’m putting some thoughts together, some of which may sound familiar. It is a topic I’ve covered before, in my typically insightful way.
So, how to describe the feeling after Christmas? A mix of relief and letdown, because the build- up is so emotionally exhausting. That makes it difficult to move back to everyday life. The start of the new year should perhaps be more exuberant, a hint of something really exciting to come. But somehow, none of us expects anything too different brought on by putting up a new calendar. Oh, sure, maybe at some point, we’ll look back at 2015 and say that it was THE year. Or, probably not. Maybe this will be the year that Publishers Clearing House finally pulls up to my door with a jumbo check, or the lottery will finally pick my numbers, rather than some random person who bought one ticket while filling the gas tank in Arkansas.
So, what is it we really expect to happen on New Year’s? Is it really a “fresh start”? A rebirth? For us, it’s a benchmark for taking down the Christmas decorations. It’s also for me a last possible date by which I’ll have worn all my new clothes. That’s a Walters tradition. Often, we’ve worn them all by December 26th or 27th at the latest, changing in shifts to get the job done. Elizabeth is, I have to say, a true Walters in this respect. Much of her new wardrobe has the tags off and not returnable by late afternoon on Christmas Day.
That week between Christmas and New Year’s is sometimes a blinding reminder of all we intended to do, and didn’t, during the previous year. It’s rather like preparing for a tax audit. You know it’s coming, but somehow it got put off. This was the year that I was going to finish clearing out the basement and reorganize all the closets. I was going to clean out the garage, too. On the plus side, the car still fits in. We’d talked about house projects – getting furniture reupholstered or replacing the couch, carpeting cleaned, painting the dining room. Those are now on hold until spring because, well, winter time really isn’t best to do “house” stuff. You can’t open the windows to air everything out. Winter is really a time to hunker down, to let inertia set in. We read and catch up on old tv shows, and some of our favorites from past years are beginning to air the new season. Even our food changes. No more hot dogs and macaroni salads – we’re in cold weather mode – meat loaf, beef stew, soups and chowders. I myself have made the major shift from white wines to red. I know what you’re thinking – how can you do that all at once? I really don’t – I start sneaking in the reds in the fall, and by Thanksgiving, we’re on our way. A funny story about that. My former secretary and our drama teacher, both very good friends, were in Paris a few years back. My secretary only drinks white wine – usually Pinot grigio. They sat down in a restaurant for dinner, and Judy ordered the white wine. The waiter asked, in disbelief, how she could order that when she hadn’t decided on a dinner entrée. She plunged ahead with the white, and then ordered a beef entrée. He apparently walked away, completely disgusted, muttering, “non, non, non, Madame”. I still remember that when pouring myself a glass.
Getting back to my original premise, what is it about New Year’s that is so deeply disappointing? Ok, we watch the ball drop in New York. We count down from 10. I keep waiting for some important announcement, like, “On the stroke of midnight, we had a special Powerball drawing, 400 million dollars won by Tom Walters in New Hampshire.” Now, that would make staying up worth the effort. Sadly, that hasn’t happened. So, I bid my family a happy new year and go to bed. That’s it. None of us feels like bubbly at that hour – it will give me stomach acid and I won’t sleep.
I’m not really sure why, but there is usually heavy traffic in Asian food on New Year’s Eve. That is, for those that aren’t invited to a black tie, catered event in a penthouse or hotel ballroom. There was even a feature article about it in the newspaper the next day. Some young couples at a Chinese buffet. We don’t typically do that, nor do we order Chinese food now, but we have in the past. Chinese restauranteurs will tell you it’s one of their biggest nights. I don’t really get that – it’s not their new year. That’s usually a month away, and they really do it up nicely with parades, lighted dragons, costumes and candles and things.
January 1st is the time for us to “throw out the first pitch” for the new tax season. It’s that wonderful time of year when, in addition to paying off Christmas bills, we await the arrival of tax documents, begin sorting out the shoeboxes of receipts, gathering up our deductions. I stopped keeping track of a lot of that a few years ago when the standard deduction exceeded anything I could reasonably invent. Also, our dear friend Lady Peacock, for whom I do the prep work, will start grumbling about her taxes, because she typically owes a bundle. That’s ok, because it won’t be done until the last minute – late March or early April. We get to “amount owed” bottom line, and her eyes fill up with tears. I will have time to stock up on my antacid pills.
Yes, indeed. The New Year’s celebration is, to me a large non-starter. It’s one of those that almost never meets expectations, and probably never will. Our daughter has had a tradition of returning to DC for New Year’s, where she and her friend Monisha would go out to celebrate and spend exorbitant amounts in DC restaurants. It was also a time for her to catch up with her DC friends and connections. Now that she’s living in Atlanta and in New Hampshire for the holidays, the side jaunts aren’t happening as much. But New Year’s Eve is kind of like Labor Day at midnight – we have it, we’ll take it, but we’re left asking the essential question, “what was the point?” Labor Day has a barbeque, New Year’s has champagne and shrimp cocktail, so maybe there is some payback. I like putting the rewards of something in terms of food – that’s usually my priority. I also will require a more extended nap if I’m expected to stay awake until the ball drops. And that’s another thing – do we need that huge, lit ball to descend to tell us when the new year arrives? Can’t we all just look at our cell phones?
Oh, well. The celebration has come and gone. All that’s left is to sweep up the confetti and wait for a surge in flu cases. Times Square was once again packed in and the excitement was electric. Ryan Seacrest noted at one point that “a lot more people showed up”, in contrast to the covid years. The police too looked pleased. Of course, when you hold a large event, you shouldn’t be pleasantly surprised that people come, particularly something as iconic as Times Square on New Years’ Eve.
On behalf of Her Ladyship and the Princess, I wish all of my faithful readers a happy, healthy new year. I wish you all prosperity and hope. Particularly hope, because everything coming from the White House recently doesn’t inspire it. I wish you glad tidings of great joy. I wish that 2026, I’ll have to go to the state lottery office with my winning ticket rather than just cashing it in at 7-Eleven. That the US won’t celebrate our 250th anniversary attacking random countries and arresting their leaders in the middle of the night. That Vladimir Putin will wake up some morning soon to find out an identity thief has cleaned out his bank accounts. Let’s not get our hopes up, though. I’m thinking . . . . . . . probably not.
Happy New Year!
I'm Thinking...No! 