Well … another New Year’s has come and gone and I managed – once again – to NOT end up standing on top of the tables, waving to the crowd.
Wait a minute … that sounds much worse than the innocent scenario to which I am referring.
You see, my parents used to throw quite the New Year’s Eve shindig every December 31st, inviting everyone from church over to our house for a long night of food, fellowship and fun. And Rook. They used to love to play Rook! Does anybody even play that card game anymore? Does anyone even remember it other than me?
Anyway, with so many people coming over to our house, we used to set up long banquet tables everywhere! In the living room, in the dining room, in the garage, outside on the back patio, out front in the driveway! Everywhere!
And then – on New Year’s Day – long after everyone had left and the Rose Parade would come on TV, I would jump on top of one of those tables and my older brother would push it around like a parade float, and I would wave to my imaginary crowd!
I was the queen of the tabletop parade – if only for a few minutes – before being reprimanded for scuffing up the floors and being implored to please help clean up the 152 paper plates, 236 paper cups and too numerous to count paper streamers and popped balloons.
Every New Year’s Day I remember those times with great fondness, and every New Year’s Day I’m tempted to jump on top of my own dining room table and have my husband push me around. But it’s just not quite as magical as it was when I was five. Or ten. Or fifteen.
So for now, I’ll just be the queen of the tabletop parade in my childhood memories … and keep the floors from being scuffed up —- and my husband’s back from being strained.
Happy New Year.