Story Saturday

[An attempt to capture my life in humorous narrative format.]

The basic idea was that Olya Reiter would assemble a collective of people ranging from cool to spectacularly cool, and together we would greet the new year in style.

The elongated formula involved a frantic trip to the largest supermarket with the ten of us contending against the thousands of other people who felt that shopping at the last minute made the most sense.  It also involved a two hour train trip into the vast unknowns of the Carpathian mountains.  It also involved potent potables a-plenty and a three hour dance session, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

I can honestly state, that the New Year's holiday is on the low end of my list of favorite holidays.  In childhood we kept a small cardboard box in the cabinet under the TV which held the four strips of paper bearing our annual New Year's Resolutions.  Dad always re-entered his submission from the previous year: to lose weight and stop smoking.  Mom always meticulously planned out her resolution, and without fail celebrated a minor victory at completing whichever task she had self-assigned.  Mine were always quirky and my sister's were somehow unmemorable.  We didn't drink in my family, so the libation never amounted to more than weak apple juice or store-bought eggnog.  We were wild and crazy, and I brought this into my adult life.

I had never traveled anywhere for New Years.  I can't remember any significant party attended, nor do I have a good reason for this condition.  My guess is that most midnights were greeted from the comfort of my pajamas and quickly ushered out the door before a good night's sleep.  My memory holds that last year, Nazar and I threw a New Year's party which ended at 9PM so guests could attend more swinging functions and booze it up as our apartment was dry at the time.

And so it was with great relish that I envisioned a boozy affair with practical strangers in the mountains.  It was for its very ubiquity that I was enamored.  While most of my peers had celebrated in this fashion for decades, this was utterly new territory for me.  I was asked to bring two bottles of drink and a meal that represented my homeland.  I was also instructed that preferably it should be vegetarian.

Now, what's funny to me is the idea that nothing that represents my homeland (or my adopted country for that matter) is vegetarian.  But, I feel that my country is a paradox more than anything, so I fired up a vegan meat(less)loaf with a sweet BBQ sauce.  I packed my bags and waited for everyone else to be ready.

The group, as promised, was a tremendous collection of intellectuals, non-conformists, and artists.  It was wonderful to have such stimulating conversation.  We walked in the forest and read aloud as a group the works of a 19th century Ukrainian feminist author.  We watched movies and ate big meals together.  We celebrated the previous year and welcomed in the new year.

In Ukraine, the tradition is to sing the national anthem at midnight and to listen to the President's New Year's greeting.  We didn't have a TV, but the infamous joke is that our president here doesn't speak the Ukrainian language very well - so I was nominated to give the speech in broken Ukrainian.  It was a delightful toast.  I confused some words and ended up wishing that everyone would have "everyone they wanted" instead of "everything they wanted," to the obvious delight of everyone.  We did some relay races outside in the cold and then returned to the main room for dancing and a photo session.

And in the morning, having completely forgotten my annual routine of resolutions, I talked with my dear friend Valya about it.  We sat on the front porch of a pine-wood cabin overlooking the mountains.  There was no snow, but the bright sun was only as warm as a mother-in-law's smile so our coffee and blankets had to keep us warm.  I asked her what resolutions she had made.

"Michael, I don't believe in making resolutions." was her reply. "I just try my best every day to be happy with what I've got and who I am.  And I'm happier than most, so it must be working."   And with that, she left to go check on a friend who had drunk considerably more than either of us.  

And so, for the first time in my life I decided to eschew all mention of resolutions.  I decided instead to live each day to the fullest and to be happy for the good and bad in each day.  Without the weight of reminders of all I have done wrong or inadequately this year, I truly felt free to sit on the porch and enjoy the sunrise, a cup of coffee, and the British crime novel in my lap.