I am as sentimental as anyone on earth.
We're home tonight, Mr. Moon and I, and Judy came by to "mootch" a martini and I've talked to all my babies with the exception of May who is working her ass off, making people's New Year's celebrations filled with exceptional culinary delights and I've talked to Kathleen and to Billy too.
"I love you," I tell them, each and every one. "Happy New Year."
I just heard an owl hoot through the woods and maybe he, too, is saying the same thing. How would I know?
I'm poaching pears, I am roasting pecans, I am dressing arugula from the garden with olive oil, ginger, and sesame seeds.
I am thinking of all of you, dammit. Every damn one of you.
And tomorrow I will cook dirt food. Black-eyed peas and greens from the garden and cornbread. Will it bring us riches and joys and all that shit?
But it's what I do.
Happy New Years.