Swept

It’s New Year’s Day in Marietta and I have nothing to report.

No chickens fell. No shiny pants shimmered.

As far as I know, the Square could have been quieter last night than it is on any given Monday.

If Instagram bears any truth, then it seems, dear neighbors, that we broke into small parties, little pockets of bubbly all over town.

Some ate lobsters and wore funny hats. Some wore paper tiaras and laminated name badges.

Some folks had fireworks… others, music.

Some gracious hosts opened their homes, throwing logs on the fire and filling footed crystal punch bowls with the most divine bourbon slush.

At midnight I was blessed to be in the company of friends, with special guests Ryan Seacrest and Christina Aguilera glowing from Times Square into our suburban soiree.

“How much do you think those people paid to be in that crowd on the TV right now?”

“I heard that they have to get there very early in the morning.”

“I heard that there are no bathrooms, so they have to wear diapers.”

The countdown snuck up on us, and about four seconds before “Happy New Year!” I heard such-a-clatter coming from the kitchen. Champagne flute down, and Zelda the barefoot mermaid-queen was rising from a sea of foam and glass.

In that moment, a chivalrous choreography occurred: one gentleman delivered a pair of shoes to his wife, while another man human — who has on more than one occasion advertised that he doesn’t know how to operate a laundry machine—managed to summon both a broom and a dustpan into his own hands.

We said goodbye to 2018 with cheers and kisses and broken glass being swept from the floor.

Over the weekend, in that lull between Christmas and New Year’s, I worked myself into a frenzy, cleaning and taking inventory of all of the items in my house. In doing so, I broke something. It was a turquoise ceramic serving bowl, unmarked, probably worthless, but irreplaceable—one of the few items I pilfered from my Mema’s cabinets after she left us for Jesus.

My husband took one look at it and said, “I think I can fix that.”

He ordered a bottle of Weldbond, sat down with it for a few minutes, and made it whole again. Now you can just barely make out the seam where it broke clean down the side.

Sometimes love is piecing what’s broken back together, and sometimes love is sweeping away what’s broken around someone’s feet.

Neighbors, this New Year’s Eve, what we missed in mystery and ceremony, we made up for in love and good company. Here’s wishing you a 2019 full of glue and brooms and the wisdom to know when to employ them.