New Year’s Eve was always a bit depressing to me—what a let down after the end of a magical Christmastime. Plus, the return to school loomed over the frozen cotton fields.
My sister and I spent the so-called most exciting night of the year watching television. We tried to stay up long enough to see the Times Square ball drop.
And what kind of fun was that?
Watching a disco ball drop from a place I’d never been and certainly couldn’t relate to was borrrr-ing. Times Square may as well have been the moon, although even the moon seemed closer to Mississippi County than New York City.
I could see the moon from my bedroom window. I watched it set and rise behind the pump house in our back yard. I studied the moon phases noting when it grew bright and full before shrinking back to a white sliver.
In 1974 I skipped the whole ball dropping thing to lie on the couch in Daddy’s office and listen to the entire Billboard Top 100 Hit countdown on the radio. I knew almost every single song by heart and loved them all. I was twelve years old and had only recently discovered music. Each month I devoured Tiger Beat Magazine and imagined all the amazing lucky entertainers were at glamorous parties dancing the night away (probably in Times Square) while I stared at the ceiling singing along to their songs and eating Jiffy Pop.
Elton John had THREE hits on the charts. That was beyond cool.
I couldn’t wait to be cool.
I couldn’t wait to grow up and be someone else. Someone different.
Turns out, I’m still the same person.
And I’m cool with that.
Happy New Year’s Eve Eve!
talya
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
Musical Pairing:
Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, Elton John – Live 1976
