To be in Paris

Any plans for New Year’s eve? Carter is making a gumbo, and maybe my artist friend will come for dinner…or not…he can be vague and flakey at times. In fairness, though, he runs a gallery and has an opening on Thursday that I am expected to attend. So he may be rather busy. Plus he doesn’t have a car these days and last year when he came over for NYE, it was 2 hours of bus riding hell. I could have picked him up in 20 minutes. At least he spent the night and I gave him a ride home the next day. But either way we will be hanging out with Barney, it seems. I really like hanging out at my house, especially in the winter. It is very cozy here with a fire. Carter on the other hand, wants to be out, smoozing with beautiful people at beautiful places, sipping a very cold, very dry martini. I told him it’s too bad he wasn’t in Paris in the 1920’s, when he could have hung out with F Scott Fitzgerald and Hemmingway. I am sure he could have held his own with them. But on New Year’s Eve I have always liked to be at home. Part of it is to avoid the crazies, and boring small talk at silly little parties when it seems like the only mission is to drink too much while you wait for the stroke of midnight, and then howl at the moon… Jeez… When did I get so old and jaded? Actually the only difference in my way is that I avoid the crazies and the boring small talk. I still drink too much and wait to howl at the moon… But I also reflect along the way. I try to put the previous year in perspective, regardless if it was good or bad. And somehow I am always optimistic about the future. That it some how holds promise, and the old slate has been wiped clean and a new year is in fact a new beginning, with new adventures in store.  It seems like a charming thought, but I can’t help but wonder if I am just naïve?