Our very own Party of Five rang in the new year with our closest family. Not only delightful food but also excellent conversation, the typical (for us) hilarity, and an excessive amount of drink (for the moms). The most phenomenal part of the evening? All of us made it to the new year. Yes, even self-regulating, always-in-bed-by-9 Daughter stayed the course.
Outside at the stroke of midnight, we proceeded to whoop it up with poppers, horns and woo-hoos. At the stroke of 12:02, a crotchety old neighbor came up to us and said, "Will you knock it off already?" [Or something to that effect. As I said, I had been drinking.] My response? "Happy new year to you."
Our friends won't be here much longer. They're pulling up stakes and moving to New Zealand. Daughter is crushed to be losing her very, very best, best friend. I will be sad for her and sad for me and sad for me and Pete. These people are our kind of people. The kind of people you're lucky to find once in a lifetime. We fit each other, collectively and singularly.
The Daughter and I continue to hope that there is still a chance they won't go. But they'll go. And we'll be here, keeping the home fires burning, making it an annual tradition to go to their old house each New Year's Eve and whoop it up to tick off their old neighbor.
We'll always have vengeance.