Our new year burst into view through a network of fireworks, unison’ed countdowns, and plastic horn blowers that stretched as far as we could hear and see from our little balcony.
And I remembered what it was like to be 10 years old and thrilled at the thought of a brand new year that would make me 11 — magically watching a little person (who once might have been me) shout HAPPY NEW YEAR, standing on a plastic chair and throwing his small voice out into the celebrations.
Eating our New Year spaghetti I would remind myself not to grudgingly resent an upcoming birthday or kill those sparkling lights with morbid reflections of abandoned promises. It’s a new year and I’m happy.
Happy New Year friends.
Love Mel and Jerry xx