Happy New Year

Last night I wish I had gorged on grapes while bells rung, toasting my feet on the fire of my (least favorite) calendar, then running  all over the house opening the windows and doors and running all the way back around closing them. I wish I had  grabbed the whiskey bottle and a lump of coal, rubbed the coal on my face, – commando-ed out to the barn (though I would be wearing underwear lest we get confused, ) and I would have burst through the front door of the barn, I wish I had been singing,  kissing the animals and sloshing the whiskey about shouting – Don’t mention the Scottish Play! I would have done a jig! Sheila would have been deeply underwhelmed.  But it was so cold yesterday, I would have had to wear three pairs of socks and two pairs of gloves.

Then I might have broken into the tinder box and let off all the fireworks  while Queenie and I shared a jug of ginger wine (How did Queenie get to be the senior cow!) and TonTon and BooBoo set off rockets behind our considerable backs. We could have gone for a walk to look for wild animals and good luck corn, banging pots and lids to ward away the bad spirits (and probably the wild animals!)

Then the three kittens could have picked imaginary roses and had a parade but no-one would have been watching because we would all be sorting and soaking the black eyed peas for New Years lunch, throwing out all the peas that had blue eyes or even brown eyes while drinking turkish coffee and throwing the grinds down to tell our future.

Then we might have sat around crouched over a fire, the dogs and I, melting lead and dropping it into cold water to see what we could see. Once I made a dragonfly, but I cannot remember what year that was or what the following year was like. Probably a lot of hovering. If we had sat there long enough around our smoky fire, staring into the buckets of water and lead, Daisy and Kupa and Mama and Big Dog and  Scrapper and Mr Pink would have come out of the shadows to sit a while. But only if you pretend not to pay attention. You must never look directly at the New Years ghosts. You have to let them be.

But I didn’t do any  of that. I drunk pear cider and we ate pickled herrings (John’s tradition, actually he ate them, I didn’t – all that salty mayonnaise is not to my liking) and way before Midnight I was fast asleep in my big boat bed, dreams and New Years Ghosts gently rocking me through the night tides, from one year to the next and now I have woken up in 2015.

No fowl will be eaten today. The Matriarch will cook lunch (steak) and in the evening John will cook little wonton bundles made with go-forward pork and shrimp –  filled with good luck – this is another of his traditions.  I am happy to be cooked for, this is the best kind of good luck and a most excellent tradition. Otherwise it is business as usual and hopefully not as cold this morning as yesterday, that blowing cold made my hands cry.

I hope you all have a lovely day.

Happy New Year from the farmy.

celi

ps. I know we were going to drive to Indiana on Friday to pick up the pig huts but now John is workingon Friday so once again I am at an impasse.  I cannot drag that wonky trailer by myself. Never mind. Something will turn up.

pss. You and I leave for New Zealand in FOURTEEN days. This time we are going to stay on an authentic New Zealand farm, you will love it,  a big beautiful farm house that is rented out as a wedding venue with porches and orchards, shearers quarters, barn and fields of wild flowers. My daughter and I will  be cooking! And you are coming along!