FA LA LA LA LA

Here we are at the end of another year – wait no! Another decade! I remember getting excited when the big wheel of time cranked around and delivered you into what you thought might be a new era, but once you’ve seen a millennium out (and in), you get a bit jaded. My youngest son, who turned 21 last month, informed me that this will be his fourth decade. Think about it: born in the late nineties, grew up in the oughts and the teens, and now entering into the twenties. Using this logic, I am entering into my eighth decade. I would prefer not to use this logic.

That being said, I did celebrate a milestone birthday last week, and it was grand. We went out for a dinner party for close friends and family, some of whom came from as far as Paris and London for the event. My friend Lis came from London JUST FOR THE WEEKEND! We had a lovely meal, then tromped back to our place for toasts and videos and musical performances. John gave an incredibly sweet speech, and Aidan and Ronan told the story of my life based on what misinformation they had, and it was hilarious. My sister-in-law Helen put together a video montage of almost every stage of my life. It was too much fun, I felt loved and cherished, and everyone drank and laughed and stayed up too late. I went to bed at 4, and I’m still recovering, because, you know, apparently I’m 80 now.

With that behind me, I am hurling myself into the holidays. We have already hit a few speed bumps. Ronan, the 21 year old, broke his ankle, because he’s entering his fourth decade and his bones are brittle. Seriously, he slipped on the ice and fractured his fibula, and has been languishing on the couch for two weeks. He will get a walking cast next week, but in the mean time he’s doing his best not to be in a foul mood. We are going away to Belize after Christmas, and the doctor told him he will have to take aspirin the whole time we are away to prevent blood clots that may result from flying. Which apparently means he can’t drink. And that’s fine, because what 21 year old wants to have a drink on New Year’s Eve? While on vacation in the Caribbean? People keep telling him it could be worse, and yes, that’s technically true, but not helpful, and extremely irritating.

Then there’s the world. Between impeachment and Brexit and climate change and, I don’t know, Colin Firth’s 22 year marriage breaking up, we have a lot on our plate. This decade is not wrapping itself up peaceably. I’m not one for resolutions, but I will make life a deal: if Trump is removed from office, I will become a vegetarian. I realize one has nothing to do with the other, other than both being good for the planet. Colin Firth will have to look after himself … maybe hire a nice Portuguese cleaning woman. It worked in “Love Actually”.

As we slip into the twenties (will they be roaring? Or boring?), allow me, in my incipient decrepitude, to wish you all the very best for the new decade. Despite all our problems, personal and global, I’m so grateful to be in this place, at this time, with you. I hope you find joy over the next few weeks, and that it spills over into 2020. And to borrow from that movie, which has become a sentimental favourite, if you look for it, I’ve got a sneaky feeling you’ll find that love actually is all around.

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