Move Fast, Stay Low
It’s New Years Eve and we are having some 30 or so neighbors and their guests over for a party. I’m not sure why we feel compelled to entertain with some regularity, but we do and for the most part, we enjoy doing it. I think its fair to say that we enjoy it more than most people, and that is largely dependent on Kim and her wellness and desire to be the hostess with the mostest. One of the things that makes that easier these days is that we often include Gary and Oswaldo and Oswaldo, in particular, was born to entertain. He knows what he is doing around the kitchen and genuinely seems to enjoy it and that makes it so much nicer for Kim to have a partner in the kitchen. I lend a little bit of help, but its mostly of the fetching sort. My highest and best use is mostly to stay out of the way and share some of the hosting duties. Mostly I follow what one friend characterized as the Colonel Kurtz approach to hosting…I sit in a far distant dark corner and let everyone come to me before the Apocalypse. It’s pretty rude, but nonetheless effective for a lazy guy like me.
This is that moment just before the scheduled start time for the party when we always find ourselves wondering if anyone who said they were going to show up, does indeed show up. New Years Eve is a funny party date, or at lest it has gotten to be a funnier one as we have gotten older. When Kim and I first encamped together seventeen years ago, we would always throw an New Years Eve party for our friends. Her friends, who were in plentiful supply during those gatherings, would always ask by Rich’s friends weren’t there in large numbers. Kim’s answer was always perfectly logical. My friends all had ski houses or the resources to travel to the Caribbean for the holidays whereas her friends, being mostly actors and singers, were always looking for a free drink on New Years Eve. That said, we used to have some real blowout parties with lots of singing and dancing by her performer friends, who would sing whatever their latest gig had caused them to become proficient at. That used to cause lots a snarky side comments, which were almost as much fun as the performances themselves.
Now we are older and almost no one we know needs a free drink. They may be avoiding drink altogether, or they may be trying to cut back, but there is very little attempt to outdrink one another. Nevertheless, we are insistent hosts who provide a vast array of champagne, white and red wine, beer, soda, punch, sparkling water and even the hard stuff should anyone want to go the whole nine yards. By the way, do you know where that expression comes from? The best I can determine, it is an old WWII fighter plane term since the P-51 Mustang could carry ammunition belts that were 27 feet long. If the fighter pilot had had a very engaging run, he would have used all his ammunition and been said to have gone the whole nine yards. I don’t know if that is the real etymological rationale for the expression, but my WWII infatuation makes it a favorite explanation.
We decided to approach this New Years Eve party in a very retired folks West Coast manner and have a rolling New Year turn from 9pm through Midnight, representing the four American time zones. I managed to confuse the start time by contradicting my own invitation for 8pm by saying everyone could come over starting at 7pm, so that left the party time span at five hours. Oswaldo and Chili (our go-to paid helper for these affairs) had the kitchen and the refreshment layout all prepped and ready by 7pm with an assortment of what we chose to call global offerings. We had Swedish Meatballs from IKEA (thank you, Melisa), Focacia from Bari (compliments of Frances), sushi by Yasuko, Caribbean pork sliders from Kim’s favorite recipe, Asian Gyoza from Chin’s Gourmet, an endless Charcuterie Platter, red pepper hummus, Oswaldo’s spicy taco bar and a full array of Italian, French and Scottish cookies. The array was impressive and I was surprised to see so many people really digging in and having seconds, throwing dietary caution to the wind for one last 2022 culinary Hurrah.
The first arrival was from our Nepalese neighbor, Ramesh. His wife Lili had to stay home with their four-month-old, but that didn’t stop Ramesh from staying until the bitter end and claiming the First-In-Last-Out award for the evening. I guess if I had a four-month-old and a house full of in-laws for an extended stay, I might use the same tactic and drink as heavily as Ramesh did as well. Our other next-door neighbor, Robert (the marine biologist) brought his pal Scott, who hails from Vancouver. He is a motorcycle-riding academic with whom I had a lot in common and therefore spent a goodly amount of time talking bikes and books with. Winston from across the street came in his full clan regalia, wearing his holiday kilt. Brian and Karen are actually from Scotland whereas Winston has spent his life thinking he is Scottish (hence the kilt), only to recently learn, much to his chagrin, that he actually hails from Ireland. That must be very upsetting to know that one has led one’s life under such a misapprehension. I try to never let Winston forget that and he, in turn, tries never to miss an opportunity to forget that he has a kilt on and flash me whenever he finds a seat.
We ended up having almost all of the attendees we thought, even though New Years Eve blues or sniffles kept a few at home and those got replaced by houseguests here and there. Everyone stayed at least through the Eastern Time Zone New Years with the bulk hanging in (even Mike!) through the Central Time Zone Threshold. After Mountain Time clicked over into the New Year we pretty much vacated the premises with sister Kathy and Bennett closing out the evening. I toddled off to bed by 11:30pm or so and did not make it all the way to West Coast Midnight, but then again, I was working on half a tank what with my 4am wake-up to get Tom and Jenna to the airport in the morning.
Now it is January 1, 2023 and the rain is coming down non-stop. Even Betty was unwilling to brave the elements in favor of a nice warm spot on the rug. We spent the morning reprising the party and being generally pleased that everyone had a good time and seemed to enjoy all the food. We have lots of leftovers, which I have already used for what can only be called my dog’s breakfast potpourris. The day has shaped up as a perfect movie day, so we are off to the Angelika for an escape into some different place and time.
The new year is starting off slowly and, as is my tendency, I am doing anything but keeping a low profile. I was watching a Chris Hemsworth movie yesterday where he was doing a rescue extraction. He told his young charge that he needed to move fast and stay low, which seemed like good advice to anyone running forward into the unknown. I always want to move fast and stay low in life and I generally have no problem with he move fast part of the equation. My nature is to be intuitive and to do what they tell fighter pilots to do, “don’t think, do”. That sounds impulsive, but it is another way to say “trust your instincts”, which sounds like sound advice for a fighter pilot. I’m not sure I qualify as a fighter pilot, but my Breitling Navitimer watch was purchased a few years ago to make me feel like I was one. The real shortfall for me is the stay low part of the mandate. I am patently unable to do that. If I stay low, I will go immobile and that can’t be helpful in this game of braving the future.
So, as I launch forth into 2023, my 70th year on this earth, the time the Bible tells us in Psalms is our allotted time on this earth and the time I have always thought of as the break even point in the game of life, my goal is to move fast, stay low. Perhaps I need to say move as fast as I can and stay as low as I can and just take the year ahead as it comes.