Tuesday, January 1, 2019

New Year’s Day, 2019

Happy New Year! Happy. New Year! Happy New Year! I woke up to the normal aches and pains.  They remind me of past fun.   Laura was lying in bed beside me. Gilbert the dog and George the Cat were on her side. They all had their backs to me.  I had immediate gratitude for the toilet.  God bless Crete.  They had indoor plumbing for the King and Queen at Knossos some 3000 years ago.  Trickle down is working for this peasant, albeit slowly.  
I sat on my camel and wool hair carpet from Instanbul, thankful that George hadn’t puked on my spot in the night. I meditated.  Crossing my legs stretches my knee which I injured bicycling. Note to self, I wasn’t running from cops, hurling terrorists grenades, doing acrobatic sex with hookers but simply bicycling to work to stay in shape. Then the knee popped. Whenever people encourage good living and exercise I think of that knee. 
Now meditating I’m thinking positive thoughts with the knee and back hurting. The back I hurt flipping various vehicles and being in plane crashes. The first time I was hit by an idiot on black ice while I was trying to get to work to deliver a baby. Driving at speed limit while the offending driver was racing past me when he lost control of his car on black ice . Another reason not to be good. No alcohol or drugs involved.
I’m supposed to be meditating on God and good and love and life and instead I’m cataloguing the injuries I got, all sober doing good things for the world, while forgetting the near loss of a finger motorcycling back roads under the influence ,unable to remember where the brake was before the crash I’ve forgotten many a new year’s eves so am thankful for another night and year of sobriety.  
Last night Laura and I kept waking the dog and cat to keep them up till midnight. I’d lost satellite reception for the tv only to fiddle with the switch at the synchronistic moment before the image came on and we could watch  the New York ball come down. Laura and I had been in New York for New Years’ 2 years back.  I ‘d decided I couldn’t stand in the cold for hours and hold my bladder that long.  Aging and sobriety.  I never thought twice about pissing in potted plants or on street corners while drinking beer. But now I’m very fastidious already fearing a karmic future with butch nurses chasing me with Depends.
We enjoyed the Canadian cross country show of New Year’s Eve celebration. I loved seeing Burton Cummings and recalling how we hired the Guess Who for the Vincent Massey High School dance for $500.  The Sheep dogs were terrific.  Delhi2Dublin on Grouse were a lot of fun for young people.  I was delighted to have the tv and feel connected with the grid.  
Laura opened the trailer door at midnight as fireworks went off.  Gilbert barked.  The cat cringed .I remember as a kid year after year Mom encouraging me to bang pots at the door on the strike of 12.  No one was outside in Fort Garry in the bitter winter. So no one heard me banging pots and screaming Happy New Year. It was the Hay family fun.  I was 10 or so when I remember that.  As teens we stopped doing anything that wasn’t decidedly ‘cool’.
After meditating I made coffee and used the canned milk this morning.   The milk was going off.  “I don’t like canned milk,” Laura said. “It reminds me of breast milk”.  I imagine women get to taste breast milk a lot later than us guys. She’s had 3 children and is a grand mother. But how do they know these comparisons. I expect I like canned milk because it does taste like breast milk, Now it’s decidedly off. But I suffer through the uncertainty until my stomach feels sort of off.
I make more coffee.
My impossibly elegant and sophisticated friend Julie in New York, who still  ballet dances, is asking for recipies for Hoppin’ John, a complicated southern bacon dish . Laura is still in bed.  I’d thought of Quaker instant oat meal or an energy bar for NY day breakfast but Julie definitely raised the bar. I’ll have to make bacon from the yesterday’s Costco’s haul.  I normally take the motorcycle to Costco to limit my load but had the car and got most of the goodies in the store. I don’t need to go out shopping for weeks if not months.  
Then I get a “Lang may your Lum Reek” from a Facebook friend   I’m all happy with the Scottish phrase. My heritage kicks in and I begin humming Auld Lang Syne. I’m  Jonesing for bag pipe music while my stomach still feels like I’ve been to early into the haggis.
I send the greetings about to dozens of friends in a fit of good will only to realize the picture is of a champagne bottle. I’ve been so long from the stuff I think of Perrier. Laura when I tell her says the glass beside is a blue martini. She has a friend who works in Las Vegas and sends her pictues of martini’s. I never drank martini.  I was a wine connossiur by comparison.  I did have a wee dram of Scots on occasion before the swat teams surrounded me.  But there I am only hours into the New Year having drunk breast milk that was off and taunting all my sober friends with pictures of booze.  Meanwhile we’ve laughed about our elderly (at our age this is a mute point) friend staying up late eating brownies.  I”m like the newcomer at his first meeting wearing a Budweiser t shirt. .  
Laura loved the eggs and back bacon, toast and ginger marmalade and the fresh coffee with fresh Costco cream.  
The sunshine is special. I’m filled with gratitude for family and friends and pets.  It seems likely that the 2019 journey will be a gentle uphill climb. I wish Fair Winds and Following Seas to all my family and friends.
God bless. Hallelujah.  Thank you and Lang may your Lum Reek (translated my your chimney smoke).
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