The boys and I are enjoying a spread of brie, fancy bread, grapes, raspberries, shortbread cookies, potato chips and shortly a chicken pot pie. There’s ice cream in the freezer for later and we’ll be toasting the New Year with ginger ale since the Safeway didn’t have sparling cider.
It’s just the three of us for now, though we’re hoping that Sebastien will make it home in time for midnight as unlikely as that is given that tonight is one of the busiest nights of the year for him at the restaurant.
On the other side of the world, the new year has already begun and each hour brings it to another part of the planet. Forty-eight minutes ago, my parents toasted and sang, one of my brothers watched the ball drop in Times Square and another looked up at the moon from somewhere in the wilds of Maine on survival training and said “Happy New Year”.
In just a little over two hours, it’ll be our turn here in San Francisco and we’ll clink together our glasses of ginger ale and have our ice cream. It doesn’t mean much to Vic yet and nothing to Julien, but for me it’s a fresh start, another chance to do things right, to rebuild and renew that I’m celebrating tonight.