
This year, I was invited to a New Year's Eve party at DanWyman's house. Dan's my boss, or whatever you call the person to whom you deliver services when you're self-employed. Dan Wyman Books is the source of all the Judaica I catalog.
I was impressed at the sheer number of people invited to the party. Although I was born and raised in Springfield, I don't think I know that many people in this town. Dan's decades younger than I and has only been in the area for a few years. Somehow, he managed to fill up a house the size of mine--an exhuberant green-and-purple Queen Anne Victorian in the McKnight section of Springfield--with cheerful and interesting guests.
We started the evening off with a potluck supper. I milled around a bit, but eventually couldn't resist the lure of the fireplace. Once I'd scored a seat near it, I didn't dare get up. Several congenial people I'd never met had the same idea, it seemed, and before long we were best friends.
Dan fired up the hot tub, and throughout the evening a motley crew of people in everything from parkas to bathing suits and dripping hair streaked through the living room. At midnight, a couple with apparent connections to the wine industry produced bottle after bottle of Prosecco, and we all toasted the New Year. The party broke up about an hour after midnight, and about five minutes after that, I was home.
I've celebrated New Year's Eve in New York City, London, and Paris. I no longer feel the need to get out there among the hordes of crazies. On the other hand, two of the absolute worst evenings I've ever spent have been New Year's Eve house parties. Last year I ended up with a bunch of fuddyduds who couldn't even make it till midnight. If I'd known, I would've planned a party after the party. This year's event, however, was just right. A great start to what I think is going to be a great year.