A New Years Letter

New Year's Eve in Las Vegas. A night of fireworks and drunken revelry on the strip. Or, as my clients refer to it, “Amateur night.”  Our night will be spent feeding an anxious German Shepherd CBD calming treats and listening to Willy Deville to drown out the fireworks on the strip.  You may question the choice of music, but through trial and error, only Willy Deville's full concert videos will keep Charlotte from literally throwing herself against the window.   

This morning, as I crawled out of bed to get ready for work, I had one of those flash memories.  You know those kinds of memories that come out of nowhere and suddenly appear?  It might be a symptom of my brain cells having one last hurrah before they fade away.  Anyway, I was eight, and it was New Year’s Eve 1971.  Tubby was heading to bed, and he told me, “See you next year!”

I had a total meltdown.  I remember sobbing in Mom’s arms while she tried to figure it out. 

“What the hell did you say to her?”

“I told her see you next year.”

“Oh, for Christ's sake, that’s what this is about?”

Sensing that Tubby might not go away for an entire year and leave me to do all his chores plus mine, I stopped crying. 

“Next year is two hours away.” Mom explained.

No longer upset about being abandoned, now I was pissed off at being the brunt of his joke.  No wonder New Year’s Eve has never been a big holiday for me.

2025 has been a reflective year for me, likely because I spent much of it writing an 800-page book about my life.  I am at the age when the days are long, but the years are quick.  I used to anticipate the day I wouldn’t have to buy diapers anymore, oh, the money I would save!  When the government grants and funding for environmental and earth sciences were cut this year, and I had to contribute to tuition, I realized diapers were a bargain.

I never paid much attention to world political events. Face it, in my field of work, every day there is a new crisis; who has time?  Then I met a DNA shared distant cousin who described my father’s ancestors as a “herd of Ashkenazi Jews fleeing Europe.”   It brings world events a little closer to home.

My dad always told me never to discuss religion or politics, because it always ends in an argument. But every day this year, our current Commander in Chief has tried my patience.  I traced my mother’s family to Plymouth Rock, the Mayflower, the building blocks of our country, including a guy who came over to the then Georgia penal colony for Scottish rebels.  These are the very white people who stole the land from the natives. Yet they are not considered immigrants. 

Then I think of my father’s side, a family of faceless immigrants who created a life in America.  My great-uncle carried Alien Immigrant papers his entire life. He and my grandfather came over at a time in history when being German was abhorrent to the American population.  Yet I am sure that my father would have voted for Trump if he voted.

As each year passes, the answers grow no easier.  I remember realizing when I turned thirty that I had always believed I would know all the answers.  Hell, at thirty, I didn’t even know the questions yet.  All I know is that there are people that I love and respect on both sides of every debate, and that I will never throw away their friendship over their opinion.  It may be the wisdom of age, but no fight is worth losing the ones you love.

This year has been a year of difficult loss.  A good friend lost her mother, a funny, sweet, and sometimes sarcastic lady whom I knew through her daughter. Louise.  May her memory be a blessing.

We lost Cousin Ronnie this year.  It was sorrowful for me because he was a living link to my childhood, my parents, my people, and my community.  He held the wealth of memories that now remain untold.  In my memory, he will always remain seated at the kitchen table with my dad, drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, and laughing.  Laughing at Ronnie’s corny jokes, their hunting adventures, their fishing expeditions that always resulted in a near drowning, or something stupid one of us kids had done recently.  May his memory be a blessing.

I met Mark, John’s friend, this year.  We also said goodbye to Mark this year, just after Christmas.  John had told me a thousand stories of his adolescent and young adult adventures with Mark.  When I met him, I was amazed by how much John and Mark were alike in their hairstyles, stance, language, and laughter.  They were truly brothers of circumstances and of the heart.  Through Mark, I met his wonderful wife, Cathy.  I am sure if we had got together years earlier, before Mark was sick, we would have been a formidable gang!  Lesson learned in 2025, someday never comes.  Say "I love you" to those you love and always make the time.  May Mark’s memory be a blessing.

I got to spend some time this year reconnecting with some forever friends, and even though it had been years, it was as if no time had passed.  Joyce, my friend, since we were four years old, our love and friendship have remained unchanged.  There was no catching up or awkward reunion.  We began back up as though it was only the day before, when we had been teasing each other and laughing at ourselves. I guess when you have been chased up a ladder by a Polish crested rooster, that creates a forever bond.  Joyce still doesn’t admit to passing me on the ladder, although she does agree that she ended up at the top somehow.

Murphy met us in Sebeka for a burger and conversation until we were kicked out of the closing restaurant and had to move to the park. I think that if no one stopped us, Murphy and I would talk until we collapsed.  Murphy is another connection to my family; my parents thought the world of her, and being with her, I feel connected again.  I know she would like me to move back, but she knows we share the same gypsy soul.  I will never hear the song L.A. County without thinking of Murphy.

We stayed at Uncle Greg’s when we took a quick excursion to Northern Minnesota.  Of course, as we got out of the car, his first words were: “Where’s Lilly?”  But after the initial disappointment, he let us stay anyway.  We stayed in Lilly’s room. Older and grayer, we still stayed up most of the night talking, reminiscing, and arguing.  I remember the nights we would spend on the telephone talking from dusk until dawn.  Separated by 100 feet of lawn between our apartments, we worked together all day and still managed to find something to talk about all night.  Being with Greg is literally the definition of going home to me. 

Greg, John, and I got to see Donna and Dave, Lee, and Jas on a short-day trip. Donna’s directions were so precise we were able to find the house without any problems.  “Once you go through Gonvick, keep going past the Gully Road, turn left at the old Catholic church onto the gravel road, and the driveway is past the cornfield.”    Knowing that Donna, like the rest of my family, is genetically unable to tell left from right, I reminded Greg, as he drove to look for a gravel road, to turn either left or right.  Of course, once we saw the old Catholic church, we had already passed the gravel road, meanwhile hoping that the cornfield still existed.  And what is considered old?  It was quite visibly old, but old is somewhat subjective.  Especially with my sister, who is OLDER than me. 

Sadly, we didn’t have time to visit many friends and family.  That means everyone must stay healthy until we get back to Minnesota in the summer. We have been watching the news reports of the blizzards and cold temperatures.  Not that we haven’t suffered in the extreme cold ourselves.  Today I had to wear my winter sweater until the car warmed up.  It was fifty-five degrees!  Driving home from work, I counted at least five raindrops from the cloudy, overcast sky.

2026 will be a joy-filled year simply because it is a NEW year, another year of opportunities to make it joyful and memorable. My resolution this year is to spend time with friends, enjoy my family, and be grateful each day.

May the New Year bring joy to everyone. See you next year!