ON THE FIRST DAY

I just went back a year and reread my New Year’s Eve piece from 2012. I was on the beach, Gulf of Mexico, in good company; anticipating the new year. Well, not really; I know it’s customary to think about years but I'm not good with norms. I was dwelling in the moment then, without much thought about 2013. On the split, at the midnight hour, we went down and sat in the dunes with tiny wine glasses and a small decanter of home made, Cranberry Liqueur, from Alaska. It was cool, the wind had an edge; we reminisced on other New Year’s Eves and huddled under a blanket. Out with the old, in with the new; I slept but was up early, watching from the balcony as beach pilgrims in jackets and hats walked the line between wet and dry sand. It was a new day and the numbers seemed irrelevant. 

Last night I was among friends. The house was built in 1888, three stories with  hard wood floors, nine foot ceilings, giant pocket doors between rooms, a back stairs for the servants and huge brick chimney in the kitchen. Our hosts kept the side board  supplied with food and drink and being together was enough reason to be there. The kids; teens and 20-somethings, were squeaky clean and anxious for their future to unfold. They had more places to go after midnight, more to do, like sponges, soaking up everything that was soluble. Those with the grizzly experience from decades, we shared ideas and story from the work place and from travels. 

I don’t think it matters much, shifting from one calendar to another. We need more reasons to get together, more often. It’s a good thing, even if I can’t give it a good name. I can reflect on the past like old movie classics and ponder the future like leaves in the wind, but I live in the moment. I’ll continue to write something down, so you know I was there, somewhere. On the road tomorrow. I’ll be back here in a month or maybe two and 2014 won’t be new anymore.