newyearseve Auld Lang Syne.  Other than words everyone is singing with George Bailey at the end of “It’s a Wonderful Life” what do we know about that phrase and sentiment?

It’s from a 1788 poem by Robert Burns, and translates into “long times gone” or “times past gone.” That’s what happens on New Years Eve. Drink a cup of kindness and say goodbye to the old and hello to the new. Give a thought to people and times gone by. And,the always hopeful wish for a good (maybe better) year.

Here’s my walk (mostly steady) down New Year’s Memory Lane. It’s kind of like a party game for you on Friday night. Ask people to relive some of theirs in some off-the-wall ways. Add your own, if you’ve got ‘em. I’m just giving you a kick start on something to do before Kathy Griffen gets bleeped or, worse yet, poor Dick Clark is wheeled out.

Most “normal”: My little black dress. My college date took me to his friend’s parents’ house and we picked up him and his date (strangers to me) and headed out. We went to several parties, and lastly raced through the streets to beat the midnight gong at a party where the friend’s girlfriend’s family was celebrating. We got there about 5 minutes to midnight. Didn’t matter that they didn’t know my name, her lovely and lively Latino family welcomed us in and I was kissed by about 10 relatives from kids to grandpa and danced like I knew what I was doing, with the happy crowd as the New Year arrived. 

Most forgettable: The year I had a party at my Lakewood tract home and a woman friend arrived late and we immediately opened the bottle she brought. Wham! A red spray of Cold Duck hit me dead center, as well as coating the white walls of my kitchen—kind of like we’d just won the Super Bowl. She shrugged: “Oh, I forgot to tell you, it fell off the seat as I drove over.”

Most poignant: A dress-up party at a co-worker’s home.  Mostly Press-Telegram folks from the ‘80’s era. For once, we were supposed to act like grownups. Amazingly, a photographer who usually looked like Hunter Thompson on a bad day was stylin’ in a tuxedo and top hat. As we sang “Auld Lang Syne” I looked over at one of the folks, an editor who was losing a battle to cancer. He was sitting on the floor, as were many of us in that crowded room. When we finished, everyone but him got up and started mingling and kissing. I went over and offered him my arm and hefted his six-foot-nothing frame onto his feet. He was sadly light as a feather. Later, another co-worker collared me at the punch bowl; he had evidently witnessed my casual move to help what might have been an awkward situation for a grown man. “You’re the second-greatest person I ever knew,” the guy said. Don’t know who the greatest was, but coming from him, I still remember that night.

Most memorable: New Year’s Eve, 1966, Fillmore Auditorium, San Francisco. Tickets had been counterfeited and the place was asshole-to-bellybutton crowded. I was a newlywed of 14 days. The Fillmore was where we’d met and now would celebrate our first holiday. Hundreds of us joined the band to belt out “Gonna Wait ‘Til the Midnight Hour” as Jerry Garcia was carried on a plank, like a diapered Cleopatra, over the heads of the throng.  Baby New Year needed some manscaping.

Most hopeful: 2010. Remember the past and those we loved, lost, and miss, and always look ahead to the next year as the one that’s gonna be the best.