So: The old year ended in Fair Oaks, California, east of Sacramento, among some very old friends (and some newer friends and acquaintances) reading pomes and other literary fare. There may even be a video of me reciting "The Mountain Whip-Poor-Will." Then everyone else went home, and we went to spend the night in a motel.
This year started a little rainy and with a stroll around an office park in Rancho Cordova to give The Dog his first morning walk of the New Year. The office park–sprawling, green, and empty-looking. Probably plenty of business there on a non-holiday, but also lots of empty buildings and signs advertising available space.
And then later, home to a bowl game or so. We only had a rooting interest in one team: Oregon over Ohio State in the Rose Bowl. That didn't turn out the way we'd hoped. In fact, it seemed like a typical ingredient for New Year's Day, which has always felt a little flat to me. Not hung-over flat. Just a day on which the celebration has always seemed a little forced, and the celebrators a little spent and maybe looking ahead to the winter that still remains and the resumption of all the responsibilities that have been put on hold for the holidays.
But aside from the football game, the long hours we spent with people today–our son Thom, his most excellent friend Elle and her folks, then later with our neighbors the Martinuccis–were warm and satisfying and very calorie-filled. And in fact I came out of the day with one firm determination for the years to come: from now on, I'm calling our 21st century years "twenty-whatever," where "whatever" is a component of an actual or expected year. I look forward to being so decisive and productive tomorrow.