Bringing in 2015

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My New Year's eve celebration was intimate and special. My husband, son and I picked up my two nephews and traveled to my parent's house to feast on a simple meal of rice, beans and fried chicken topped with a healthy serving of my mom's special gelatin mousse delight. Nothing out of the ordinary, really, yet it was special precisely because it was so ordinary and comfortable, like a well worn pair of slippers.

During dinner, my father made a comment about my mother's delicious stewed white beans which we were wolfing down like ravenous buzzards. He said something to the effect of the beans were delicious going down and deadly coming out. This reminded me of the famous campfire scene in "Blazing Saddles" and in the ensuing discussion we discovered that neither of my nephews had ever seen that particular movie. As it turned out, my father had an old VHS copy of it handy so during dessert, my nephews were treated to their first viewing of Mel Brooks' famous comedy western. Needless to say, they loved it as did we all.

Afterwards the menfolk gathered around a small table to play a few hands of dominoes while my mother chatted on the telephone to relatives who called to wish us well in the new year. Dick Clark's Rocking Eve played in the background until it was time for the famous ball drop.

No matter how many times I experience that ten second countdown it never gets tired. I am instantly transported back in time to when I was a little girl at my grandmother's house, surrounded by family, hugging and kissing everyone in sight yelling, "Happy New Year!" It is the annual replay of a family tradition that has been handed down for generations and lives on for generations to come. In the faces of my children and nephews I see the continuum and look forward to the day that they carry on the tradition and make it their own.

Shortly after the midnight mayhem, we watched a few minutes of Sir Elton John's show being broadcast from Barclay's Center in downtown Brooklyn, then we packed up the domino table and returned all the furniture to its place. Coats on, doggie bags packed and back home we all went but not before another round of hugs and kisses, thank yous and goodbyes. The tradition never changes and yet it always manages to stay fresh.

There's a word for that. It's called family.

Ballo ergo sum
- Gitana, the Creative Diva