From fireworks to forgetfulness: My annual New Year’s ritual
Here we go again: another new year, and I’m not prepared. I never am.
The only way I’ll know Jan. 1 has arrived is if I wake up when someone shoots off loud fireworks or a gun in the neighborhood. As the years advance, I’m becoming even more oblivious to that—one of the blessings of old age, I suppose.
This holiday comes way too soon. Some years it’s tough enough getting everyone together for Christmas, let alone facing another big holiday just a week later. If the president can rename pretty much everything, then he should declare June 1 as New Year’s Day. That would give us time to rest and be ready for a big party. Besides, who decided the new year should start in January anyway? It turns out it was Pope Gregory XIII, who introduced the Gregorian calendar in 1582 to straighten out time, which kept shifting events into the wrong months.
But that didn’t automatically make Jan. 1 the universal celebration date. That spread gradually around the world. Much of Europe, including Italy and France, jumped on the bandwagon immediately, but Great Britain wasn’t a fan of the new calendar and held out for years.
In the American colonies, New Year’s Day was generally celebrated on March 25 until 1752—which I didn’t know until I found it from the Britannica people, online of course.
Several countries still observe a different day for the event. Even though the Chinese adopted the new calendar in 1912, many still celebrate Chinese New Year, which is set differently. It’s the second full moon after the winter solstice.
Anyway, we’re supposed to look forward to the promise of a bright new year without staring back at the not-so-distant past we were so glad to escape. Instead, there will be freezing temperatures and huge heating bills. I should be grateful for simple pleasures.
At least, with debit cards and automatic bank payments to cover bills, I don’t have to worry much about writing the wrong year on checks. I just don’t write that many checks anymore. And usually, with a bit of concentration, I can remember what year it is. Still, for some reason—possibly age—since 2020 it has been hard to remember to jump the year ahead.
It gets more confusing when you’re paying 2025 income taxes in 2026.
There will be things to look forward to, like birthdays and more holidays. There will be time to spend with family—and maybe less surgery this year. I am also looking forward to whatever the St. Louis Cardinals do next summer to fix the mess they’re in.
There will still be classic rock, even if much of it is 50 or 60 years old and most of the artists are gone. At least I have a computer that corrects me when I’m writing. I think it fixes more mistakes than it makes. I wish I could say the same for myself.
