I’ve never much celebrated New Year’s Eve.
As I recall, Holly and I only spent one enjoyable new year’s eve, with a group of theater people—but with all things theater, it was flash-in-the-pan, and we never saw that crowd again. Thereafter, new year’s eve has always been a night best spent quietly at home, away from the drunks, with modest expectations for “fun.”
The most typical new year’s eve I recall was when Holly tried out a new Chinese recipe that included lychee fruit—from a tropical/subtropical fruit tree native to the Guangdong and Fujian provinces of China. The fresh fruit has a “delicate, whitish pulp” with a floral smell and a fragrant, sweet flavor. Since this perfume-like flavor is lost in the process of canning, the fruit is usually eaten fresh. But this was pre-Internet, Holly didn’t know it, and the only lychee fruits Holly could find were canned. The dish was so horrible, even the dog wouldn’t eat it, let alone our dinner guest. So you see why we always set our expectations low for the night.
Inevitably, the most fun to be had on new year’s eve was in the movies. Those theater people—they can always be counted on to look like they’re having a good time, no matter what’s going on.
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