January one

I awoke early this first day of 2011 thinking of a lyric I vividly remembered from a 1974/1975 new years party. The song was written by Phoebe Snow whose music I adore, and she had just released her eponymous first album. The year 1975 set in motion amazing events that would change my life forever, but on that last night of 1974, in the midst of a recession, jobless, and alone, Phoebe's lyrics struck a cynical nerve in a cynical time.
My buddy Tim hosted the party at his parent's house, and we played billiards and drank beer all afternoon preparing for the evening. Of course, his saintly and progressive parents were out of town. A lively and large college crowd of  friends came and celebrated well into the wee hours. At midnight, Tim and I dressed as "Father Time" and "Baby New Year," with banners of the year numbers fashioned across our chests. Tim had the body, so he played the shirtless diaper role, and I dressed in a sheet and carried a borrowed old sythe. Sometime before dawn, after everyone had either left, scored, or passed out; I mournfully and drunkenly played the Phoebe Snow album over and over and over on the record player, and when I awoke on the floor, it was 1975. No explanations appeared.
Several years ago, Tim sent me the treasured photograph of us shot at midnight in costume. I took a long hard look at that picture this morning and went on a trip down my dimming memory lane with You Tube to find the song called, "It Must be Sunday," with the funny lyrics. The last time I went out on new years eve was 2000/2001. These days, my last night of the year is spent in contemplation as it was last evening. No expectations ever for the last night of the year. Here is the verse of the witty and timely lyric that stuck:


"December thirty-first
Is the very worst time of the year
You got to think of people
That you like enough
To share your beer
Just when you're having fun
It's January one
And you wait for explanations
To appear."

No explanations magically appeared this morning. No excuses either for the old year now history. This mornings dawn brought hope and expectation for a year of personal growth; of expressing joy and passion, and of living with as little cynicism as possible. It's January one.