vaneramos | New Year's memories

My parents' Christmas tree.

Marian says, a universe.

Whichever you like.

~~~~~~~~~~

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.