Years Ascending

Years, Ascending.

Last night,
also known in many circles
as New Year’s Eve,
we threw our first real party
since moving here two Mays ago.

Our house was warmed by an amazing,
diverse, fascinating, and loving group
of new island friends.
As long as we’ve lived here
we’ve not been able to get over
just how terrific
the people on this island are.

As midnight grew near,
many of us stood in the kitchen,
our feet warmed by its toasty,
radiant heated slate floor.

Like many Northwest homes,
we’ve got a mostly shoes-off policy indoors
and had encouraged revelers to arrive
wearing their nice socks without the holes.
All complied.

I was impressed by some of the creative approaches
to sock fashion, my favorite being
the guest who came with a pair of foot “gloves,”
sporting a separate opening for each toe.

With no television service
and no clocks in the house,
like casinos that maintain 24/7 timeless,
windowless chronology-free environs,
it dawned on us
that the sole source of external confirmation
that the year had indeed changed,
would be the oven clock.

Why humankind enjoys proof
of an otherwise randomly determined calendar moment
that will occur whether we observe it or not
is a mystery to me,
yet I participate in the folly with glee each year.

So there we were,
a cadre of warm-footed,
nicely socked,
New Year’s Nerds,
staring intently at the digital readout
on my Thermador convection oven
and cheering as the numbers clicked over.

Anyone can watch a ball fall in Times Square,
but few revelers can tell the tale
of how they spent New Year’s
in a kitchen
watching an oven turn.

Alex Shapiro January 2009