Tag Archives: new year

1895. Cruel names

Merry was called Merry because she was born on Christmas Day. Clearly her parents didn’t realize that the proper spelling of Mary had also some connection with Christmas. Merry spent her entire life, as a punishment for her parents’ lack of knowledge, saying, “No! That’s not how you spell it!”

Just over two years later, when her little brother was born, it was New Year’s Day, so he was named “Happy”. It was a providential name because when he grew up and began a career in looting he shot a couple of policemen and was known within close circles as “Trigger Happy”.

There was a third child in the family. He was called Roger; short for Roger Mortis. The parents thought it a huge joke because he was born on the very day that Grandma died. Spelling was not the parents’ greatest strength so “Rigor” was registered as “Roger”. Otherwise if he had been born on an ordinary day of the year they had in mind to call the baby Plain Jane if a girl, and Joe Blogs if a boy. And then Grandma stepped up to the plate. Roger had escaped from having a life lumbered with silliness.

Honestly, a number of people were relieved that the parents didn’t create further children. “I’m sure any uncreated children would be more than grateful that they never came into this world,” declared a neighbour, Ms. Stacey Meldrum. Stacey herself has a host of kids. I can only remember the names of three of them; Tabernacle, Vernacular, and Genuflection. After these three Stacey developed an interest in organic chemistry.

Poem 60: New Year

You cavort around wearing your woman’s
leather rhinestone-rivet-chain quartz-bracelet-wristwatch watch
and singing Auld Lang Syne like you mean it
like there’s nobody in the world you forgot
like friends who love everybody in a great saturnalia of giving a
tu-whit tu-whoo and your original NIKE air max women’s running shoes
(worth five hundred and forty dollars fifty-eight)
that you can’t walk in cos of those tight, ripped, distressed, slim jeans, and
the knitted cat-ears faux fox fur vegan fibres beanie.
You can take that cup o’ kindness and
shove it up ya up ya up ya
tu-whit tu-whoo along with the I’m-currently-reading tome on
the life of Nefertiti which I recall you were speed-reading two years ago.
We too have run around the slopes
and picked the daisies fine
for auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne.
But you forgot, an old acquaintance be forgot
and never brought to mind
those days of auld lang syne
our days of auld lang syne, my dear,
our twenty-four years of auld lang syne.

I’ll be home if you want me, with the kids, though I don’t like my chances.

 

If the above link doesn’t play, then try clicking HERE!

 

1210. Waiting for midnight

 

Years ago, when he was just a teen, Vivian thought that 67 was a reasonably old age. He was born on the 1st of January 1950. That meant that the final digit of his age was the same as the year’s final digit; 1959 he was 9, 1969 he was 19, and so on. The year was 2017, and Vivian was 67.

Now that he’d reached the age of 67, Vivian didn’t think that was old at all. He’d always presumed, for no reason, that he’d die aged 67. And now it was a quarter to midnight on the last day of 2017.

What a relief it will be when midnight comes, thought Vivian. It was now ten minutes to midnight.

Vivian was feeling stressed. He tried not to look at the clock. He played a computer game to takes his mind off things. He had sweaty palms.

It was now five minutes to midnight. He turned the television on to watch… anything.

His wife had to turn the TV off in the morning.

1018. Mistletoe

1004mistletoe

It was New Year’s Eve somewhere in France. In France in New Year the mistletoe is even more kiss-inducing than at Christmas.

Jacques was seventeen years old. He rather fancied Chloe. She was sixteen and went to the same school.

Chloe’s parents were having a New Year’s Eve party. They hung mistletoe at the door. Chloe invited Jacques to the party (along with others of course). Chloe wasn’t sure if Jacques liked her or not.

Jacques arrived and Chloe greeted him at the door, under the mistletoe naturally.

Jacques climbed out the back window of Chloe’s house, went around to the front of the house, and knocked on the front door. He did that seventeen times.

Chloe was starting to suspect (she hoped, she hoped) that Jacques liked her a bit.

A Happy Christmas and New Year!

Details of my Christmas crib (I think some countries call it a crèche?):

x3

x4

x5  x1

 

 

 

 

 

Apparently one of these is of me!

There is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good humor.
A merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us, every one!

– “A Christmas Carol” – Charles Dickens

Music 66: Ubi caritas

66ubi

The first piece of music for 2016 is based on the tune of an ancient Latin plainsong hymn:

Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est.
Where there is charity and love, there lives God.

I like to think of the music as portraying the prow of a canoe or a boat, ploughing its way through waters to new and exciting horizons for 2016!! May every ounce of love and blessing be yours for the coming year!

813. Happy New Year… again!

813year

It was New Year’s Day! What an exciting year lay ahead for Jocelyn! Her youngest daughter was expecting twins in March! A granddaughter was to be married in April! Jocelyn and hubby would celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary in July; they were going to Vienna! Jocelyn was putting in a fishpond! I know it’s a silly thing, but Jocelyn had always wanted a fishpond, and it was in the making! No water yet, she was letting the concrete “season”. Not to mention all the little delightful things that could happen in the coming year, such as going for walks, and camping trips, and… and… just smelling the flowers!

Oh what a happy day! The children and their spouses and all the grandchildren came for lunch! Jocelyn had prepared simply cold meats and salads.

Everyone had a great time. And so, Dear Reader, may you have a wonderful year too! This story goes to show that bad things don’t always happen in these tales. So many of you are so darn cynical, expecting me to kill everyone off in a story. But no one drowned in the fishpond, for example. That comes later. The fishpond’s not finished yet.

812. Annus horribilis

812annus

(The fabric on my piano stool cushion is embroidered with Latin quotations. At last I’ve got around to investigating them! Nothing to do with music… but they serve as a starter for today’s story!)

It hadn’t been a good year for Ruth. It had been her annus horribilis, from beginning to end. It had been one disaster after another; a capite ad calcem. Or it could have been a pedibus usque ad caput, depending on how one looked at it. Or to put it in a more literary way, ab ovo usque ad mala as Horace said, which would mean from soup to nuts instead of from the egg to the apples if Horace had been writing in English.

Anyway, it was now New Year’s Eve. Ruth reflected on the past year’s events. Who would’ve thought that having a husband and two sons could create such a horrid year?

In March, her son and daughter-in-law, Joel and Eliose, had split up, leaving her two granddaughters, Angeline and Cassie, all mixed up. She could still hear the phone ring in her head. She’d just gone to bed – it was 11 o’clock – and Joel phoned to say he was kicked out of his house and could he come around and stay the night?

Her husband had passed away suddenly in the merry month of May. He was just getting ready for bed, an hour before midnight, when he took a sudden turn. She phoned for the ambulance but he’d already died by the time it arrived.

Then in late July she herself was diagnosed with bowel cancer. It was weeks of chemotherapy, and then weeks of radiation, followed by an actual operation. The specialist thought she would make a full recovery.

What a year! Thank goodness there was Nico, her other son, at least one member of the family, whose year had gone well enough. He had found a new job, and he and his wife, Brianna, had had a wee daughter.

It was eleven o’clock! One hour to go! Ruth poured herself a little wine.

“Here’s to a brighter New Year! Memores acti prudentes future!” said Ruth. “A toast to the future!”

The phone went.