If it’s true that the way you spend New Year’s Eve sets the tone for the coming year, I’m bound to have a good year. Jacob and I are spending the evening quietly at home. I asked what special meal he’d like, and he had no idea—finally settled on spaghetti. So I “doctored” a jar of bottled sauce in the cupboard (added wine, balsamic vinegar, paprika, a bit of brown sugar, a bay leaf), and he declared it wonderful. I insisted he take off ear phones and turn off iPad—told him it’s a special evening, and we would have a sophisticated dinner. He was reluctant but soon got into it—we talked about family and football, cussing and church. At one point I was through and ready to get up, as was he, but he said, “Well, what should we talk about now?” You couldn’t have blasted me out of that chair. We had an hour-long, honest conversation in which, among other things, he analyzed my lifestyle. With perception. I wouldn’t trade for that hour.
At eight-thirty, he began to worry about how we’d stay up until midnight. I had been hoping eleven and the dropping of the ball in Times Square would be enough, but apparently not so. He says at 11:59 we’re going to toast—me with wine, and he with sparkling cider in a flute. He wouldn’t let me take a picture at dinner, for fear someone would think he was drinking wine.
We made it to eleven and to watch the ball drop in Times Square—but on NBC there was no ball! Just all of a sudden, a huge “Happy 2016” and lots of smooching. Jacob left the room in disgust. I meanwhile finished proofing the book I want to put up on Amazon. Weekend project: make corrections. Found plenty! At this point 40 minutes to go until midnight.
We made it, watched the countdown in crowded downtown Fort Worth and the spectacular fireworks. Toasted with kid wine and wine (no pictures allowed by my date for the evening).
Yes, 2016 is going to be a great year. And Jacob and I wish the same for each and every one of you.