Not unlike our private little Christmas holiday, our New Year’s Eve proved intimate and mellow. Brugger had selected a couple of mighty fine wines for the evening, and I made Chicken Vindaloo for dinner, which turned out respectable. We watched Logan’s Run, which I hadn’t seen in many years and which she had never seen, and Liar, Liar, which she wanted to watch again after quite a few years. At midnight, friends Terry and Beth appeared on our computer screen for an impromptu bit of long-distance whooping and hollering via Zoom. Unlike most years, fireworks (and gunfire) from around the neighborhood was sparse. 2020 may have taken the bang out of more than a few folks.
I can’t say 2020 didn’t bring some good things, such as the publication of my third Ameri-Scares novel — Ohio: Fear the Grassman! — and Borderlands 7, which includes my story, “Escalation”; having my work published in Borderlands has been among my primary literary aspirations for many years. Working at home has been a godsend. But in the grand scheme of things, 2020 was a miserable spell, most notably because I lost my mom to COVID-19 back in July. Pandemic aside, having to deal with estate affairs has dominated a massive portion of my life, and I will be so ready to move beyond it, hopefully later this year.
No, there won’t be any immediate, miraculous changes on the horizon, but I do hope, over the long haul, 2021 brings about some much-needed healing — physically, mentally, and emotionally — for so many in this nation. We cannot continue on our dark, gloomy, divided path without totally coming apart. Maybe sooner than later. I don’t think many of us want that.
Happy happy happy. K?