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Huck has been planning his New Year’s Eve for a few weeks now, and it involves the three of us staying up all night long. When I told him that there was no way I would even consider staying up all night long, he warned me that I would spend my New Year’s Day very bored and lonely because he and Troy would be sleeping.
When we moved to Fayetteville we brought with us some non-perishable food from our New York kitchen, including mustard. Not taking stock of what we already had, once we got to our new town I accidentally purchased more mustard for our future backyard cookouts. It became a joke around here that no one should under any circumstance ever buy any more mustard for as long as we live. A couple weeks ago I got some mustard out of the fridge and noticed an old Associated Market price tag on it from our Fort Washington Avenue days, along with a disturbing expiration date. I announced to the family that we had finally come to the end of our mustard line and would now need to officially purchase brand new Fayetteville mustard! Huck ran into the kitchen and requested the price tag with uncharacteristic sentimental flair. I carefully peeled it off and watched him put it into a teeny Tupperware container with other precious little items that he can’t quite let go of, including a sketch on a folded up St. Paul’s pew envelope from months ago. I should probably show him the nearly empty bag of hazelnut coffee hidden in the back of a cupboard also purchased from Associated Market that I can’t seem to throw away. After all, I got it specifically for Thursday afternoons while Huck and his friends were at jazz choir practice so that the women I became a mom with could join me for an hour of down time in our apartment across the street. Or how about my last love note found in his New York lunch bag from second grade that I salvaged and put into my wooden box of special mementos before getting rid of the well-used bag? Why, just a week ago we colored together on a kids’ menu at our Christmas Eve dinner, and Huck wrote the restaurant’s name and date on it so that we could find it years from now and remember.
For Christmas Troy gave me Anne Lamott’s new book “Small Victories.” It begins with a poem by Billy Collins called “In the Evening.” Here are the last two lines:
And the past and future?
nothing but an only child with two different masks.
All this reminds me of New Year’s Eve. Holding on to memories and souvenirs from times gone by while glancing forward at what’s to come. Sometimes you have to put on the lid, shut the drawer and take a step into the new. Because before you know it, the new becomes a sweet memory, too.
Happy 2015! And may the people you live with spend the day asleep.