Every New Year, for as long as I can remember I’ve done something. There has been some kind of plan. Most of them were spent at lavish New Years parties. Since Tha worked in the Hotels, we always had a party to be at. One of my fondest childhood memories, is running around from table to empty table, finishing off the leftover bubbly! The rambunctious British guests would entwine their hands and sing in a maudling, inebriated cadance “…for auld lang syne, ma jo, for auld lang syne…” I joined in running in and out of their stumbling circles, and inevitably fell into a deep sleep aided by the New Years secret.
But as New Years got closer and closer this year i had no plan. I roamed on the internet looking for a party to attend, but nothing looked good. Finally, 2 days before the New Year i realized i have absolutely no idea of what to do to mark the occasion.
New Years, in the recent years, has typically been my time with Bathiya. But he is gone now (surgically removed himself from my life, and put an “ex” in front of his title) and I was feeling a little empty, lonely and sorrowful. Obviously not the best way to welcome the New Year, so i made a plan.
I mean, what did i need typically to celebrate?
1. My family.
2. Good Food
The rest is just atmosphere.
My brother is doing an internship at a Farm up in New Hampshire, so i called him and asked him if we could come up. I asked him to buy some fireworks, and told him we’ll sit outside around the firepit and welcome the New Year. We would bring ourselves closer to nature, closer to Mother Earth. He agreed whole-heartedly; being the intellectual-hippy, environmental- spiritualist, stoner-man that he has grown up to become.
In the afternoon my sister called from Sri Lanka. It was already the New Year there. My parents were having a party for the staff at the school and plantation. There were fireworks, and dancing and a small incident with a Cobra. I wished half of my family good luck for the New Year, and we decided to take the episode with the Cobra as a good sign after all. My dad had decided not to kill it. This way it will be a good year for us and the Cobra and his family as well.
That evening, we drove up picking up a bottle of sparkling cider on the way. Annie called on the drive and i had a lovely chat with her; good friends to mark the end of a good year. As soon as we got in, we started cooking. My cousin had brought the Orange infused Vodka I gave him for Christmas, so we poured ourselves some drinks, and started cooking around 8pm. My brother was in charge of the meat, and I, the fish and accessories. We had to keep him from eating each piece he cooked, and spent time in the kitchen, laughing and fighting and talking.
By 10 the food was ready (albeit a little too salty). We sat down to eat.
“At the table, like people,” I insisted.
I put the Pumpkin pie I had made the day before, into the oven to warm, and after dinner- when we couldn’t possibly have another bite- we stepped outside.