It's the day after New Year's, and I'm sitting here with a wad of tissues piling up on my desk, a hot cup of tea and enough cold pills to take the snort out of an elephant.
Aaaaaa-chooooo!
Sheesh! Why do I always catch a cold on my vacation time?
It's like my body goes, "Whooohoooo! We've got the month off! Time to get really down and funky. Bring on the germs! Calling all viruses!"
Luckily my body at least waited till after New Year's Eve.
What a weird New Year's it was.
Five minutes after the ball dropped and my gang of pals had exchanged smooches, we were left sitting on my bed staring at New York's new mayor and saying out loud, "Man. It really doesn't feel like New Year's."
There were less people in Time Square than I'd seen in previous years.
There was less screaming from the roofs and fire escapes of my neighbors.
There was less energy in the air.
I guess after everything that's happened to this city, it was hard for a lot folks to say those words, "Happy New Year!" without feeling like a liar.
For me, there was also the added bummer, that I had to spend yet another New Year's Eve with no lover to smooch at midnight. M.E., my significant other, was only able to stay for the early part of the evening. Her mother (whom evidently one doesn't say no to) had coerced her into ringing in the new year at The Plaza -- nice if you like being surrounded by old money and pretentious tourists.
I did have some great friends over; Laura the actress, Erin the writer, Carol the banker, Sandy the insurance guru and Neil my chef and occasional therapist.
I tried to compensate for the sadness of the year, by serving Jewish love food; potato pancakes and applesauce, stuffed cabbage, roast chicken, sweet carrots and home-style rye bread. Like all my meals, I made enough food to feed Pittsburgh.
"Please, for the love of God, have seconds!" I begged my 5 guests as I looked at food for 20.
We drank champagne, ate cabbage, sat in front of the burning Duraflame log and told each other stories about our lives. It was a wonderful non-party.
But it didn't feel like New Year's.
At 11:30 in an effort to stir things up, I brought out Twister. You remember Twister don't ya? That plastic sheet full of dots. You spin the wheel, put your left hand on blue, your right hand through your friend's legs to yellow, your butt hovering dangerously over green.
I think Twister is one of those things that was a lot more fun when you were 8, (unless of course you play naked Twister, but that's another party entirely).
I was the spinner, and Carol, Sandy, Laura and Erin were the twistees. Everyone got tangled up and giggly. It was fun. Really fun, but it didn't feel like New Year's.
At 10 minutes to midnight, my pals piled onto my bed to watch Dick Clark. None of them wanted to leave the warm apartment, so I pulled on clunky boots and a down coat and climbed the stairs to the roof. Kathleen from 1G was there, rosy faced and laughing, surrounded by a smiling crew of very tipsy women with very large wine glasses.
Standing on the roof at midnight is a tradition I started as soon as I moved to my new home in The East Village. This was my third year. I always took my favorite spot, standing in the center of the deck with The World Trade Center to the left and the Empire State Building to the right.
I still remember the amazing sound of thousands of New Yorkers screaming when the clock struck twelve for the year 2000. It's odd to say that the sound I heard of the countless people screaming when the first tower collapsed on September 11th was eerily similar. Only the distant notes were of horror not joy.
I looked into the place where the towers had been and felt ashamed that I could no longer remember exactly where they stood. Was it right behind that building? Or that one? How soon we forget.
"10, 9, 8, 7 ..."
I turned to face Kathleen and her friends.
"6, 5, 4, 3 ..."
It was Kathleen whom I wound up kissing at midnight and then raced down to my apartment to share smooches with the gang.
"Happy New Year!" we all cheered to each other. Laura and Erin were French kissing, Neil was looking pink and adorable. Carol and Sandy hugging.
"Just how old is Dick Clark, anyway?" Laura broke the moment to ask.
"That guy must be 80!" someone said.
We watched our new mayor shake hands with the man most people call a hero these days; citizen Giuliani. It was a weird moment; a new year, a new mayor. There was something about Giuliani leaving that seemed to say, the curtain is closing on September 11th. It's time for all of us to move on now. I suppose that's a good thing. There might be something healing about a new face on the news, a new beginning.
It's 2002. We have before us an unpainted canvas ready to be filled with the many colors of our adventures yet to be. How do we fill this new place and remain faithful to the lessons so recently learned?
How do we move on, without forgetting?
As in the aftermath of all terrible tragedies, I guess we just do.
I think back over what I've seen these last months ... not on the news, but in my own little neighborhood; the weeks when we needed ID to get home, the many days when half the people on my block wore ventilation masks as if that could do anything against the intense smell of dust and death that seemed to permeate our very souls, the flyers of missing sons and daughters, husbands and wives that caught us off guard, eerily smiling out at us from the many makeshift memorials that sprouted up around Alphabet City like wildflowers.
It's a new year. Time to re-energize ourselves and strive for something better than we've had before. There were so many things that seemed important before September 11th. So few of those things seemed important on September 12th. It's those few things that I hope for now; peace, courage, love, family, goodness.
Happy New Year??
Hmm. No not really especially in this city, but I can live with that. It's okay not to feel happy right now, especially if what has replaced that happiness is hope.
Here's wishing a Hopeful New Year to you all.
