New Year's memories

My parents' Christmas tree.

Marian says, a universe.

Whichever you like.

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Tonight Danny and I will take Marian and Brenna to the First Night celebration at the renovated Old Distillery district of Toronto. New Year's Eve has traditionally been an adult fun time for me. The past few years I usually dropped the girls off to spend the holiday with my parents while I went invariably to Toronto for fun and partying. The single exception was Y2K. That year the girls and I watched Toronto's immense fireworks display from the balcony of my boyfriend's thirteenth floor condo overlooking Toronto Harbour. But Marian and Brenna are less content to stay at home with the grandparents now. So this year marks a change for me and them. New Year's Eve is becoming a family event. And my girls are growing up. First Night will allow us to celebrate in a festive, alcohol-free venue.

When I was an adolescent, New Years Eve was one of the funnest events of the year. My family had moved to Poplar Bluff when I was eight. Most of their new friends in Harrow were made through me: families with children my age. At this time of year my parents would host big parties. These usually included the following families:

• The Mannings: Justin was a hearty Irishman who taught electronics at St. Clair College, and Jill was a slender, severe Welsh woman. They were our next door neighbours, and their eldest son Neal, a few months younger than me, was my best friend from age 8 until we finished high school. He had three younger brothers: Brendan and Shaun the twins, and Kieran.


• The Butterys: Brits. Jane was my grade four teacher. Her husband was a scientist at Harrow Agricultural Research Station, one of Agriculture Canada's largest. Their daughters Sarah and Susan were a few years younger than me.
  
• The Brushes: A Harrow farm family, as Ontarian as they come. Anne and John have remained friends of my parents to this day. Their children, Jim and Mary, were close to me in age and went through school with me. Mary was bubbly and bright, my nemesis in grade 3. Gran Brush, who had lived in Harrow all her life, was always a part of our festivities.
• The Robbins: Rob and Marilyn, who was secretary at our high school and my mom's closest friend for many years. Their son Steve, who was in my class all through high school, died in a car accident in 1983. He had two younger sisters: Martha, who was Mary Brush's best friend, and Sarah.

Over the years other families might join us, but these were the usual suspects. My parents' circle of friends never drank excessively, so these gatherings were generally spirited but fun for everyone.

They would be held at the Mannings' house or ours and usually involved music. One year Justin invited some of his buddies who played Irish music for us. At our house we would end up around the grand piano singing Christmas carols and show tunes. I would be conscripted to play, along with Dad, Mary Brush and Jane Buttery.

Mrs. Buttery was an annoyingly energetic woman with the persistence of steel. She made it her task to make sure she kissed everyone at midnight. We youngsters would spend the entire evening staking out hiding places in closets or under beds so that when midnight struck, after singing Auld Lang Syne, we would all know where to run to evade her lips and strident hugs. Of course she always managed to ferret us out, every last one.

Happy New Year, everyone. And inappropriate 12 o'clock kisses to all of you.

A white swan feather

From my favourite movie, The Joy Luck Club:

This feather may look worthless, but it comes from afar and carries with it all my good intentions.

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For years I cynically avoided New Year's resolutions. They reminded me too much of fundamentalist Christian thinking in which we "all fall short of the glory of God." While castigating ourselves for our sins, we still thought ourselves better than the unsaved. It was false humility.

Coming out of the closet, I learned to celebrate who I am and respect the differences of others. There was nothing shameful in simply being what I was. I dated a string of nice guys who smoked. I didn't like it, but I never pressured them to quit. They beat themselves up enough over it. Good intentions reeked of shame, which is the poorest motivator to change.

Happiness is inversely proportional to the strength of our desires. The more we want, the less is our contentment. The course of personal growth is inevitably fraught with setbacks and disappointments.

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More from The Joy Luck Club:

JUNE [bitterly]: I'm just sorry that you got stuck with such a loser; that I've always been so disappointing.

HER MOTHER: What you mean disappoint? Piano?

J: Everything! My grades, my job, not getting married. Everything you expected of me—

M: Not expect anything! Never expect! Only hope. Only hoping best for you. It's not wrong to hope.

J: No? Well it hurts. Because every time you hoped for something I couldn't deliver, it hurt. It hurt me, Mommy! And no matter what you hope for, I'll never be more than what I am. And you never see that: what I really am.

M [takes pendant from neck and tries to give it to June, who pushes it away at first]: June, since your baby time I wear this next to my heart. Now you wear next to yours. It will help you know: I see you. I see you. That bad crab, only you try to take it. Everybody else want best quality. You, you thinking different. Waverly took best quality crab, you took worst. Because you have best quality heart. You have style no one can teach. Must be born this way. I see you.

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My good intentions for 2005:

1. To complete a revision of Pilgrim's Cross and look for a publisher.


2. To recreate my website.
   
3. To dedicate one afternoon/evening a week to visual art projects.
   
4. To research and sell a magazine article.
   
5. To decrease my debt.
   
6. To find a psychiatrist.
   
7. To spend more time with my friends in Guelph.
   
8. To listen to my heart more.