You have to read this with Janis Ians At Seventeen playing in your minds ear.
I learned the truth at seventeen/That love was meant for beauty queens/And high school girls with clear skinned smiles/Who married young and then retired/The valentines I never knew/The Friday night charades of youth/Were spent on one more beautiful/At seventeen I learned the truth.
I pulled up the lyrics so sure was I that they referenced New Years Eve, but they dont. For some reason, however, that songs aching recitation of high school angst is inextricably tied up in my emotional memory book with New Years Eve Fail stamped across each picture. To have a date for New Years Eve, a party to go to, a dress to wear, a boy to kiss at midnight--these were the sure indication that one, that I, was a full participant in that party swirling around me called Life. Clearly, my New Years Eve expectations were fashioned by magazine layouts and romantic comedies. Sandra Dee under the mistletoe; Doris Day wrapped in taffeta with Rock Hudson. (Just writing their names brings up fantasy scenes--quickly scotched by the irony of knowing that Sandra Dee was an alcoholic and Rock Hudson died of AIDS.) The reality of my New Years Eves was this:
Getting snowed in at a house party in high school. I have no idea who my date was, but I do recall that he couldnt stop laughing at the noises my stomach was making.
Being fixed up in college for a house party in Beverly HIlls. Again, I have no memory of the date, other than the ways I tried to elude him for the midnight kiss. Partying at a restaurant in Londons West End. My husband got drunk and went to splash in the New Year in the fountain at Trafalgar Square. I went home alone.I think I gave up after that, accepted my fate as one never meant for New Years Eve. Then I remarried; my new husband and I decided to fashion New Years Eve to our own tastes. We spent the day of the 31st renting movies and made a trip to the high-end market down the street to load up on things we denied ourselves the rest of the year. Picture the two of us watching films, eating shrimp and imported cheese, and drinking a decent bottle of cabernet. A few minutes to midnight, we gathered champagne glasses and our Yorkie and took to the snowy sidewalk in front of our house to toast in the New Year.I would like to tell you that we have continued that tradition, because it makes such a lovely picture, doesnt it. But the truth is that Husband #2 is gone and the Yorkie has been replaced by a Bichon Poodle. However, this isnt about the details; its about creating ones own fantasy rather than buying into the cultural vision. One of the hardest yet most rewarding things about getting older is that you learn to fashion your life to your own fancy. Mine still includes gourmet goodies and champagne, but this year Ill party with Andy Cohen and the gang at Bravo. Ill toast the dog, and myself--and you know something, Im looking forward to it.Jane Gassner is a freelance journalist who has written for many publications. She is the founder and editor of MidLifeBloggers.comShare your New Years Eve experiencegood and badbelow.
