Mary Novaria

For the last week we’ve been furiously scratching out or backspacing on 2024 and replacing it with 2025 in dismay that the century – the one we fretted so much about back in Y2K – is already a quarter gone. Yes, we know it’s a New Year, that the calendar page has flipped. The capitalistic evidence is everywhere with offers of gym memberships, weight loss programs, and tips for keeping those pesky resolutions. If we believe the hype, those of us who choose to ease slowly into the year are the outliers, while it seems everyone else is primed for success, progress, forward motion. New Year, New Me! Best Year Ever! My mother was a firm believer and practitioner of the seasons of the Nativity, beginning with lighting a new candle on the Advent wreath on each of the four Sundays before Christmas, and celebrating the Feast of the Epiphany on January 6. Among other things, it was always the day my mom took down the Christmas decorations. Legend has it that Epiphany, also called Twelfth Night o...

                                                                                                                   Fotolia I get why teenagers want to go out on New Year's Eve, I really do. It's because they want to make us crazy. The reason I know this is because I was 17 once. There were few things worse than being home on New Year's Eve. It was worse than missing Prom, worse than not going to Florida for Spring Break, worse than flunking your driver's test. Dear old Dad always called New Year's Eve "amateur night"--a night fraught with beginning binge drinkers making asses of themselves, generally wreaking havoc, and possibly jeopardizing life and limb. Going out on this auspicious occasion w...

I get why teenagers want to go out on New Year's Eve, I really do. It's because they want to make us crazy. The reason I know this is because I was 17 once. There were few things worse than being home on New Year's Eve. It was worse than missing Prom, worse than not going to Florida for Spring Break, worse than flunking your driver's test. Dear old Dad always called New Year's Eve "amateur night"--a night fraught with beginning binge drinkers making asses of themselves, generally wreaking havoc, and possibly jeopardizing life and limb. Going out on this auspicious occasion was seriously frowned upon. (The same was true for the purchase and use of roman candles, smoke bombs and bottle rockets on the Fourth of July.) Participating in year-end revelry was even more strenuously discouraged if it involved driving. Ask to borrow Dad's car on December 31st? Fuhgedaboudit! I have no memory of my parents ever going to a fancy, grown-up New Year's Eve ...