My mother took down the Christmas tree every year on December 26th, early in the morning and spent the rest of the day eradicating any sign of the holidays. I've kind of inherited this way of being, but this year, I've been reluctant to let the holidays go. I formed a half-baked theory about this phenomenon which goes something like this -- when I've had a rough year, I get rid of the holiday stuff as soon as possible, start with the calendars and planning and make the Carver line (This time, next year, things will be better) my mantra. When I've had a pretty good year, I'm not as eager to be done with it. So by those signifiers, 2011 was a pretty good year.
I've always kind of hated New Year's Eve, but I didn't this year, another good sign. At the strike of midnight, I took to heart the feng-shui tip of saying something you want to usher in the new year, you know, the generic blessings of good health, money, love, and for us writers, publications! I felt strangely hopeful for someone who published two books about death, rape, incest, and other less cheerful subjects last year. I remembered my first New Year's Eve in Detroit, when I heard the guns going off all around me at the strike of midnight. I didn't know that happened, so it was quite a shock as I spent the night alphabetizing my books in the midst of periodic gunfire. I knew something was happening, but I didn't know what, just like now, but I'm a lot more comfortable with that emotion.
Movie suggestion: The Descendants
Benedictions and Maledictions