So which decade are you in?

All this hype about it being a new decade. Okay, people, let's all raise our fingers in front of our faces. Got 'em up there?

Count. Starting on the left. One, two, three... you know the drill. What's on the far right? Your little right pinkie finger is what when you're counting? That's right: ten!

That would be, the end of a ten. 2010. Next year's the end of the decade. I did hear a commentator on one of the XM Public Radio stations state that yesterday, so I know I'm not alone in this conviction. But perhaps we are just so ready to get rid of these first years of the 21st century, that we (media, you know who you are) have found a convenient way to package them up, tie them with a virtual bow, and push them back in a corner. Ah... 2010. A new decade.

Or not.

But these first years have been a difficult labor and birth process. Fetching the newspaper this morning, I looked up at our now-nonfunctioning (by choice, ours, not its) front yard light. Ten years ago, on the morning of Jan. 1, 2000, we had come in from spending the night elsewhere and found that a brick had been thrown through one of the glass panes. Happy New Year, someone had said and smashed part of our glass. We put it back together, much as we've been seeking to put ourselves back together in the wake of 9/11 and the Iran/Afghanistan miseries, terrorism on our shores and the recession. Now that I think about it, perhaps it is best to bundle it all up, declare a new decade, and march on.

But on a personal level, it's been a good decade. Both sons out of college/grad school, both married to wonderful women, two grandchildren healthy and growing. We've been privileged to travel to Australia not once, but twice! We've made new friends and learned to treasure old ones more deeply.

Happy New Year, no matter which decade you think you're in.

The north end of a north-bound tree

There's a Christmas tree farm in the north part of my county. Each December, I smile as I drive in from points south on the highway and meet cars with evergreen trees bound to their roofs, the south end of south-bound trees. Meant for a happy hearth, the trees sometimes arch over the back of the car. I try to glimpse at the occupants, but at 70 mph, it's difficult. I just assume exhausted family, tired from apple cider and a hay ride and picking the perfect tree.

I'm used to this sight. So that's why it took a moment for me to register yesterday that something was wrong with the little SUV which pulled out in front of me from a gas station. Strapped to its roof was a Christmas tree, and I had a view of the north end of the north-bound tree. The problem? It was New Year's Eve.

I thought to pass the car, but it sped away from me, although I did catch up at a light as we entered town. But it turned left and I was left to speculate at the calendar anomaly.

Going to use it as firewood? Too scrawny. Taking it back? Uh... don't think there's a return policy on after-season Christmas trees.

How about, a special Christmas, a celebration for a returning soldier? What if someone rescued the last little tree in the lot and was now going to make it the centerpiece of a joyous post-New Year's holiday?

Oh, I like that idea. I think I'll stick with it.

Merry Christmas to the tree-bearers. Happy New Year to the rest of you.

New Year's Eves I have known and loved

An accounting:

When I was a teen, my dad would buy champagne and on Dec. 31, serve it with orange slices draped over the edges like shrimp in a cocktail. I dare say I haven't had that since then. The most notable thing I can remember about Daddy and champagne is the bottle of pink bubbly he put in the freezer and then promptly forgot. Alas for him--and everyone else within hearing distance--my mother was the one who opened the freezer and found crystals of pink champagne scattered over everything.

In the 70s, we were young marrieds and I can't recall a single NYE celebration. We tended to be tired a lot (college, grad school and babies will do that). However, it did seem that The Apartment showed up on TV every NYE. We'd start to watch it and then fall asleep. This was pre-VHS remember, so we never did see the conclusion until we taped it one night in the 80s and watched it the next day.

By the 80s, we had a social circle and a couple gracious enough to host a host of us for NYE. We'd get a babysitter to stay the night and not care whether we came in at 2 or 5. (Just did that once.) Memorable time there? The night some guy came in off the street, filled up a plate from the buffet, and left through the garage. Everybody thought somebody else knew him. Only the next day did we figure out that no one did.

Next section of years finds us wondering more where our teenagers are than where we will be. We tended to stay home, have a few friends over or go out to dinner. I remember a LOT of looking at the watch and clock to see: isn't it midnight yet?

But as the millennium changed digits, we joined 50 or so of our nearest and dearest out at a summer youth camp. If the world were going to end (and of course it already hadn't ended, computer or otherwise, across the dateline), we would be among happy friends. Karaoke, big bonfire, beautiful weather... we all stayed the night on cots and air mattresses and ate breakfast before going home. The next year, the weather was beyond awful, but we gamely went to a big hotel in Dallas for their spend-the-night-dance-until-one celebration. We even went back the next year. Sadly, that hotel no longer holds that particular party. Since then, we've tried another hotel's offering, but it just wasn't the same. Four years ago, we were in London, and watched fireworks from a churchyard and celebrated with our new in-laws. One very snowy NYE, we had a cozy time at a house in the country. Driving home, the moon was so bright on the snow, we hardly needed the headlights to see.

Tonight we'll go to a friend's house and sit at the fire and visit and be very happy to be where we are: warm and safe and healthy.

And really, what else is there to celebrate?