Countdown

Another year over. When I was a kid, Christmas couldn’t get here fast enough. Time dragged. Now, it seems everything is in high-speed, especially my birthdays. And now another new year. What will this year bring? More gray hair, more wrinkles, more nightly bathroom trips.

Margaret asked me yesterday what I was doing for New Year’s Eve. I’ve learned not to go out on that day. Too many crazy drunks on the road. I gave her my annual response, “I’m going to my cousin’s house. She lives down the street, so I won’t have to drive far.”

I’ve been giving people that line for so long I seldom get invitations anymore. Truth is I’m celebrating at home. Alone. And my cousin? She passed five years ago.

I stopped going to New Year celebrations when I was in my twenties. I could never understand why people would stand around waiting for the January countdown just to kiss strangers. It seemed to me New Year’s parties were an excuse to get drunk and fondle people you would never see again.

My husband, who didn’t like parties either, decided we should celebrate New Year’s Eve at the movie theater. First time we went, it was us and an old man in the last row in the place. I remember saying, “Why does someone pay to come to a movie and then fall asleep and snore?”

My cherub-faced husband stifled a laugh. “He’s groaning, not snoring.”

I remember thinking, it isn’t a sexy movie. I mean it was that movie with John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John. Can’t remember the title. But you know what I mean. Grease. That’s it.

My mind is going just like my body is. One sags and the other drifts.

We-my husband and I-went to the movies every year and then it became the popular thing to do. Theaters advertised to celebrate the New Year at the movie show. Shoot. They didn’t even give free popcorn. After I was divorced, I didn’t want to be the old woman in the last row, so I stopped going and stayed home. Oh, sure, I got invites. Even accepted some of them. But, honestly, they were boring. I never understood the party hat thing.

My phone’s ringing.

“Hi, Jane…Happy New Year to you, too…No, I finished eating…Yes, another year over…Oh?...No, I didn’t hear…so sorry, Jane, I didn’t know he was ill…Ah, the funeral…on Saturday… of course, I’ll be there...Take care, dear… Yes, same to you.”

Damn. He was a few years older than me. Well, he won’t be counting birthdays anymore.

I have the TV turned to that New Year’s show from Times Square with the live falling ball. There are all these celebrities singing and talking. I don’t recognize any of them. Not a one. What happened to Dick Clark? Did he die? I used to make fun of people who watched this show and now, here I am. Dear, God. What has happened to me?

Well, maybe a resolution is in order. I used to make resolutions about losing weight and exercising more. But I just got fatter. Last year I fell and couldn’t get up. Thank goodness my handyman was around to help me. The doctor told me to build my upper body strength so if I fell again, I could get up off the floor. I told him I’d rather have a young handyman around. He didn’t appreciate my humor.

Another thing I stopped doing after my divorce was making resolutions. Why bother? I never kept them. I tried everything from writing them down to telling people. Seemed two months after January first my resolutions were trashed, along with the Christmas tree, wrapping paper, and eggnog containers.

I saw a talk show this morning and the four women were discussing resolutions. One woman said she wanted to be happy and resolved to look at life with a positive attitude. What does that mean? Positive attitude. Do I have to like everything including ugly babies? Do I have to smile at Frances’ stupid remarks? Positive attitude. Baloney.

The phone again? At this hour?

“Hey, Janine…Happy New Year to you, too…Yes, I heard…so sad, isn’t it? ....Tonight? No, not going out anywhere, just staying…what?...Oh, watching the ball drop…No, I’ve never been to New York…Yes, maybe someday…Yes, let’s get together soon…Bye, dear.”

Maybe I should be nicer to people. That’s my resolution. Be nice.

Too general. Should be specific. Be nice to waitresses. My husband always said I treated the waitresses like crap. Oh, oh. The ball’s dropping.

10…9…8…

Waitresses. Too narrow. I can include more people. Next year, I will be nice to waitresses and salespeople.

7…6…5…

I can do better. Be nice to waitresses, salespeople, and laborers.

4…3…

Who am I kidding?

2…1…