The End Before The Beginning

I am struggling to believe that it's New Year's Eve already. The end of 2007. I find myself in a strange place, a somewhat melancholy place. Most folks wax poetic on this eve, thinking back on the year almost tucked into bed forever, and idealizing the year stretching ahead, full of bright hopes and delicious promises. I guess I'm not "most folks" anymore. Am I glad that 2007 is over? Yes indeed. It's a year that I would wish a great infliction of amnesia. I want to forget that this year even happened, for memories hurt. Am I thrilled that a new year is ahead of me? Not really, for there are no promises ...

I don't make resolutions. For a few years I tried, believing that's just what you did at this time o' year, but I quickly realized how futile -- and silly -- the whole endeavor really was. At least for me. It always boiled down to two things: lose weight and stop biting my nails. My nails are still nubs, as they have always been and forever shalt be. I am ten pounds heavier per child. 'Nuff said. No resolutions.

So ... here we are. 2007 is sighing its last breaths, ready for eternal slumber. And yet ... I have to be honest with myself. If 2007 never happened, in a sort of George Bailey fashion, I would also have missed out on some tremendous blessings. New friends would not be a part of my life. My kids are happy. Grandma and Grandpa are a part of our daily lives. Cousins are close by. We might never have experienced God in the way that we have. Yes, George Bailey, it is a pretty wonderful life after all. And yet, sometimes an occasional numbing episode of amnesia wouldn't be such a bad thing ...

Our evening is simple this year -- no parties, no crazy times. For Christmas, my cherished gift was one of Gordon Ramsay's cookbooks, and we highlighted our evening's selections under the "Dinner For Two" chapter, dining when the kids go to sleep. We've already started our quiet festivities, for while the kids chowed down on their chicken nuggets and broccoli, we enjoyed our first course, our appetizer of Oysters Rockefeller (a delicious first for me) and lovely flutes of fabulous champagne. Interestingly -- ironically? -- the champagne was a parting gift to us when we left our last church. A young woman with whom Don worked closely was grief-stricken that we were leaving, and her gift to us was an expensive bottle of champagne. I was a bit surprised, having never received anything like this before. She lovingly explained to me that we did indeed suffer through a horrible year, and this bottle -- this gift -- was symbolic of her hope that there would be a time for celebration after a time of mourning. "Open it when you are able to celebrate," she said, "for you will celebrate again." Thank you, Sandy -- tonight is the night, not for anything in particular, but at least for the gift of hope. Later, we'll enjoy mashed potatoes, steamed asparagus with orange hollandaise, Chateaubriand, and hot chocolate fondant for dessert, with the bubbly flowing amidst it all. We lifted our glasses in a toast, but we paused -- for what do we toast? Forget aiming high, for a turnaround year, for a year of deliverance, for a new beginning? Maybe ... maybe not. Our glasses clinked to the simple, the now: "For a great evening."

Yet with two rambunctious wee ones, even that might be aiming a bit high.
But hey -- I'll drink to that. It's enough.
Cheers.

Good night, friends. A lovely evening to you all in whatever you do, and a blessed beginning tomorrow, for we all face the day together.