The American New Years

This blog was prompted mostly by all the folks back home that always ask me, around this time of year “how do people celebrate New Years in America? Do they really all go out in the streets?”. Well, my dears – mostly, but not all of them.

I remember celebrating New Years growing up, back home. It was always the same thing, every year, for us and pretty much everyone we knew. My family would cook for a week and make all these courses of food (so far, nothing new, right?!). And then, we’d all gather together, usually at my parents’ house, some family friends, my grandparents, maybe my aunt and uncle too, sometimes some coworkers, too – just a ton of people. We would always dress up. My dad was adamant about that! The New Year deserves to be welcomed in pretty attire – he always said.  The party would start around 9 PM. We would sit around the looonnggg dinner table, and eat the whole night away, till 6 AM. We’d all have “something” (preferably champagne, but it was not always that) in our glasses for midnight, ‘cause you never wanted the New Year to find you on empty!

Till I was 15, we had almost no TV watching options to speak of all during the year. We had access to one TV channel, and they broadcast 2 hours of program (mostly politics) a day, and about 4 on Saturday. That was it! The only exception was New Year’s night. On that night, the program would start at 7PM, and after the couple of hours of mandatory politics, they’d broadcast the “Revelion” program (the Romanian name for the New Year’s party) till 6 AM the next day. During our celebratory dinner, the TV would always be on, and we’d watch music, stand up comedy and traditional folk dancing and singing all night long. It was special. This was our tradition.

My most favorite memories are of TV watching – we so appreciated all the fun that was so new to us – and being together and laughing at dad’s jokes over good food. My parents, and all the other Romanians I know are still celebrating it like this, minus, for some of them, maybe the TV.

And then, many moons later, I moved to The States. Here, from what I could tell, there is no uniformity in spending New Years, and as far as I can tell, no one tradition to follow. Some people go out to dinner, at 8-9 PM, and then they go home and “watch the ball drop”. For those of you not familiar with the expression – this is the Times Square ball in New York City that “drops” at midnight on the top of a high rise. The streets in New York are full of people and there are bands playing, and dancers dancing on high platofrms. Everyone in America is watching, and the dropping of the ball is broadcast in every time zone of America, too, with every one’s midnight. I have done this many years in a row. I usually go out to dinner before midnight, sometimes, and then go home, open a bottle of champagne and wait to watch the ball and the show broadcast from Times Square on TV. Then, I head to bed around 1 AM, after I feel like I have welcomed the New Year with a full glass.

Some people would have friends over for dinner or dinner and games. I have personally not partaken into the “games” event, but I have had people over for midnight, right after a nice dinner somewhere in town. I am not sure how long the “games” gatherings last, or what games are played, but it might still be time to find out.

Others do head for the streets. When I lived in Myrtle Beach, SC – which is a party/ resort town year round – we did this. We would go out for a late dinner and then we would bar hop. And just look for bars with live music, spend a little bit of time to warm up in one, and then move along to the next bar. There was an area of town (called Broadway at the Beach) where there is no car  traffic allowed, and we would walk about, people watch, sometimes eat street food and wait for midnight to come. Then, we would watch the fireworks show at midnight. Then, head home around 1 AM or when we were completely frozen. Or drunk – whichever came first. It always ended up being a big celebration.

Where I live now, one of the nearest towns, Provo, has an interesting custom. They bring a fire truck in the parking lot of the mall, and they hang an electric, wire ball, all lit up, to the top of the ladder. Then, at midnight, they let the ball drop, just like the famous one in Times Square. Then, there is a fireworks show. Yes, cheesy (about the makeshift ball), but it’s their hometown show. And who am I to judge?! You always have to remember that there are many a people who never see beyond the boundaries of their small towns. This is their tradition. Their memories. One should never make light of that. I was glad to witness this, and feel like part of the local community on my first winter here.

Back home, my parents always made sure they ingrained in our brains that no matter what you do for New Years, you can never let two important ingredients be missing: a full glass, nor can you ever be alone. I have to tell you, I have not done well with the second piece of advice. Many years, I was alone. One year, I even went out to dinner by myself. In a whole bar full of people, and couples (I guess I was not completely alone, technically), I was alone at a bar, discovering the depths of blue cheese.  One other year, I pulled out the yoga mat in my living room and was in the middle of my routine at midnight. Yes, the glass of champagne was nearby. I was never really alone, though. Really. I always had my cats, and all the people in my memories from years past.

Nowadays, I try to bring in some traditions into our new lives. We try to go to dinner and always be awake and together on the big night. I still agree with my dad – this one night should not just go on like any other night of the year. We always dress up, even if it’s just to be in front of the New York ball. I have tried for many years, to get dinner reservations for as close to midnight as possible, just to be around a lot of people – like those folks in New York, or like Myrtle Beach used to be. But anywhere else in America besides the party towns, they always have you out of any joint by 11.30 PM.

There is one thing I have never tried – one of those reservations at a hotel for the New Year’s special.  You reserve a multiple course dinner in the hotel’s ball room or reception hall, everyone wears fancy gowns and tuxes, and then you toast champagne with everyone else at midnight. Then, it’s up to the room for the night. I would like that experience for sure at least one time.

In the whole scheme of things, America’s New Years’ traditions are like everything else in the country – pretty much allows everyone to make their own. If there is one uniformity in America, it’s the uniformity of everyone making a consistent determination of not being uniform. I do miss the big parties at my mom’s house for New Years, but  just as much as any parties, I guess. If there is one thing I can say is that my dad was right – whatever you do, you gotta make it special. It is the threshold between past and future, and you will never meet the old year one more time in your life. Nor will the new year ever be a baby again. The switch is worth celebrating. Now, what “special” means to you, it’s totally your choice. A pattern or lack of one across all people is entirely irrelevant, I have found.

These are just some of the things I know of and I have experienced in the past 14 years of spending my most important night of the year in the Land of the Braves. From my shores to yours, I hope your celebration was lively and memorable and opened the doors to a bright new year.

My Drinking Problem

“Hi, my name is Alina, and I … don’t believe I am an alcoholic. Not quite. Really.”

I grew up with dad making wine every fall, my mountain relatives making beer every summer and my uncle making tzuika (close to “moonshine”) every year. And I can never remember a New Year’s at my parents' house, when even us kids didn’t have a sip of real champagne. Or a summer barbecue where we, as kids, didn’t sip mom’s “foam” from the top of her beer.

Alcohol had been part of our daily “diets”, if you would, forever. And just like we’re not all gourmands for eating every day, I don’t think I’m an alcoholic because I have, or even crave, a glass of wine every now and then.

I have never seriously thought about having a drinking problem before (well, not in my adult years, anyway) until it’s become a chase to “where do I get the next good bottle”, when I moved to Utah.
What used to be an every day passing thought is now very much a conscious, deliberate, much planned project, since here, alcohol comes at a price. And I am not just strictly talking about money.

My parents were once again right: the more you forbid one from doing something, the more they’ll yearn to do it. And I find 100% truth in that statement since I have moved here: because they make it so hard and rare to get “good stuff” here, we want it more.

Every day, I am trying to discover a new store that “sells good beer and wine”, or a new store “with a better selection” of both, or a new bar that sells “my beer”, or … It’s my obsession now, it seems. Mine, and a few other friends’ too who come from other parts and are used to drinks-a-plenty. Every time I find “something good”, I want to do a little happy dance – it’s like Christmas has come. Or my birthday. Or both in one day! I screech with pleasure when I see alcohol anymore! Just like Adam and Eve must have done it when they saw “the fruit”.

Now, don’t get me wrong: compared to 10 years ago, when I first visited the Beehive State, the drinking rules are much, much, much more lax! Kudos to the Utah folks who fought to change some of the old laws, and to the Utah government who approved them. You can buy (weak) beer in any grocery and convenience store, and you can even buy it on Sundays. All Sunday long. Now, that’s even better than The Carolinas, right?! You can find any kind (wine, liquors, liqueurs, mixed drinks, etc) of alcoholic drink in the State Liquor Stores, but these are closed on Sundays. Also, you never need a membership for a pub to be able to order liquor, like you did 10 years ago.

But alcohol is still relatively “hard” to find, and the selection is way low in stores. I am saying “hard to find”, because the state stores are very few and far between, for one. There is no liquor store in our town. We just got a new one in the town adjacent to ours, which is about 7 miles away from our house. Before this store was opened, this past Christmas (and my husband was the very first customer, thank you very much!), the closest store to our house was a couple of towns over, about 11 miles away.

Grocery stores only sell beer that has an alcohol content of 3.2% by weight; in other words, you drink 10 beers and you’re still waiting for a buzz! If you want “regular strength” beer, you will need to visit the liquor store. There, you have a broader selection of import beers, wines and such. But you’ll have to plan for the trip – make a point out of visiting the neighboring town, and remember that Sundays these stores are closed. Also, as of recent times, they open at 11 AM. So if you have a lunch party on a Saturday – stock up on Friday. And since you have to drive so long to get there, you can’t buy just one bottle. You need to make it worth your gas money, right?! Planning. Planning. And more planning.

Buying drinks is never on the grocery list when you live here. It’s always a special trip.

Today, I visited our new (and closer) liquor store. And once again, I was like a kid in the candy store, jumping up and down with joy. I think it’s because they are new and they are trying to still test this market, and see what people would buy, but they had EVERYTHING! I have seen things in this new store that I have never seen in a wine store – here or elsewhere in America.

I could seldom find my most favorite wine in whole world, Moscato. I always have to “settle” for Riesling, or Pinot Grigio instead. And when I do find it, it’s usually from only the same two wine makers (Gallo and Sutter Home). I have said this before, but I believe most Americans have sharper palates that Eastern Europeans. So Moscatos are not very popular in The States.

Well, the new store has not one but TWO separate sections for Moscatos. I would have taken a picture if I were not the only customer in the store and the cashier was not eyeing me like a hawk. Usually, you find the rare two Moscato wines under the aisle heading “other whites”, or “Riesling”, or even “Sauvignon Blanc”. But in this store, they are their OWN wine, as they should be, of course. They have not only several Moscatos from California that I have never heard about, but also another one from Australia, and even an Italian one!

I once asked a wine store bar tender in Greensboro for Australian Moscato, and they promised me Australians don’t export such things. That they are famous for their dryer varieties. Well, when I saw this today, you can imagine my surprise – right here, in the wine forbidden Utah state, discovery of all times: my “candy” does exist and from Australia, nonetheless! Still no Kilkenny beer , however, but this is a start!

I browsed aisle after aisle (the place is huge and they are still stocking up, with plenty of aisles still empty and awaiting varieties), and I marveled at the diversity of the inventory and at the very affordable prices. It felt good! And thus, I caught myself: I am feeling good, happy even, about drinks! About alcoholic drinks, at that! So, you see, that prompted me to ponder upon my possible addiction.

I also feel sort of an embarrassing kind of guilt when I enter a liquor store around here. Especially in the middle of the week, in the middle of the day! I feel like even the cashier wonders what my problem is to be there that early. Even if they don’t really give me “the looks”, I still feel like they do. I should just come out and say it – “I am not an alcoholic, lady. I am just Romanian. Now point me to the sweet wines, please”.

A Dress, by Any Other Name …

I feel about weddings like most people feel about “don’t shoot me” orange clothes: they might look good on some people, but not on me!

For some odd reason, I have never liked the big, fat, party central type of weddings. And more than the huge parties where people you don’t know get fed and drunk on your life savings, I hate the dresses. Like I said: I hate them for me. A white, puffy dress that looks like belongs in the 18^th century does nothing for me. It’s uncomfortable, it’s too white, and you can’t drink your coffee comfortably for fear of not spilling and ruining the day, and on a terribly short person like me it looks ridiculous!

And I never understood why women want to look like in a masquerade ball on their wedding day! It’s the beginning of your new life: will you look like a jester in your new life? Or will you look like you, every day?! I want to be me. Me, at my utmost. And I am never me if I am uncomfortable.

A guy can wear a suit, which is something they (some) wear every day. Women have to wear “gowns” and not breathe during their wedding. Now, I have an issue with that! It’s a principle issue here! Somehow, what’s good for the gander … you know what I mean! And yes, I know this is a minority’s point of view. But it happens to be mine.

So here I am, hating all this, and trying to put together the wedding and buying the dress for it … I have managed to keep the wedding the way I have always wanted: small and symbolic, not huge and blurry. But the dress is giving me nightmares! For the millionth time, people in Retail, I do not want a GOWN! No gown! No puff! No train! No lace! NO! NO! NO! I want a dress I would not wear to work, so a little bit more chic than that, yet comfortable, as if I could wear it anywhere. I don’t want to be afraid to sit, or stand in it, I don’t want underwear showing, nor have to lose 10 lbs to fit in it. I want it simple, elegant, small and HERE! NOW!

And finding a white or an off-white or a black-and-white dress that’s my size has been virtually impossible! I find the right cut in the wrong color everywhere. Always the wrong size, but I have even stooped low (for the budget oriented me) and talked myself into alterations … I am a nervous wreck ! I dream about wearing nothing on the big day but a rain coat! I have nightmares that my dead grandma (who was a very, very fashion-savvy seamstress and spoiled me rotten growing up because she would custom make everything I wore the way I wanted it!) is scolding me about my dress … I started to hate my stature and my body and people in retail stores.

And Holy Mother of Jesus, are those bridal stores intimidating!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You get a “consultant” (?!? – please, people, I have bought clothes before, all right?!), you have to see yourself in the mirror with 10 thousand strangers fighting for the mirror space, gawking and looking at you! And please, don’t tell me there are no petite brides left in the world! You have TWO size 2 dresses (a bit big for me, but like I said: alterations) in one cut, and one full aisle of size 18W! Really??? That’s what most of the brides out there wear?! Oy!

And the prices! Oh, Lord! So, you cross the aisle in the bridal gown area, you pay at least $400 for a white dress. The same dress, in yellow, across the store, for brides’ maids, is $100! I might not be a fashionista (or whatever kids say nowadays), but I know common sense!

And asking advice from your friends and family is even worse, because you don’t want to disappoint and you know you will when you’re not main stream about these things. And every one of them seems to just see herself in front of the altar when they share opinions on dresses! Has no idea that this is ME, ME- who hates weddings, ME- who hates dresses, period, ME – who hates puff, ME - who is looking for a dress! So much help is that! I am sure they mean well, and I admit I have quirky and unusual taste … but honestly – I got no help there …

I am exhausted! I am not quite sure what I’ll wear, but I can tell you – it will probably be an impulse buy once I have reached my limit. The most important thing about the wedding is that I have the right man. And that’s a definite. And I know he is the right man because he, also agrees with me on “small wedding and a comfy and simple dress”. And also like me, he doesn’t believe in what “you should wear on your wedding day”, but in “wear what you want. Always.”. So, I’ve got my mainstay for the wedding. Everything else, including the dress, is just haphazard!

Thank you, everyone, but mostly Aa., for putting up with my extra-neurotic self these days…

Thoughts on New Year’s Night

Life’s a trip, indeed! The kind that never stops and never stops surprising you, either!

2007 turned out to be weird to its very silly end… The year when a long awaited family gathering 5000 miles away from here fell apart to bickering and pettiness; the year of a beautiful couple’s wedding AND separation a few months later; the year of going in business with dear friends only to be cheated on, lied to, not to mention fallen apart with disappointment; the year of another one night stand, when I swore I am too old for that; the year of a freak happening on the top of the one mile bridge mountain, when the wind locks me out of my car; the year of the long awaited first Christmas in Canada, only to witness a death… Also the year of a new home, and new praise at work, the year of new-found love and respect for people I have taken for granted.
So, last night, when my friend called 15 minutes before our dinner to tell me she can’t show, because she broke out in hives from her makeup and can’t go out, I said to myself: well, THIS is a fine ending to this crazy year: going out on New Years alone. I have been out alone before, but the folklore of the masses in any culture will tell you oh no, you can’t be alone on New Years. Oh, no, it’s bad luck!! Well, I said to myself: what else am I going to do?? I have two options: alone at home with the cats, or alone in a crowd… So, I went for the crowd… I had not dressed up and made up my face to show it to the cats. Nope.
Yes, I felt stared at and pitied when I first walked in and sat at the bar, but just like a new piece of furniture eventually blends in the room’s décor, so I became part of the scene just after the first sip of my Riesling…
There is something thrilling on the night between the years, that I would always want to be part of, I think. People grow smiles out of nothing; even the shiest ones are chatty and even the cold, aloof ones are warm and approachable! Everyone is evidently throwing off the worries of the heavy, old, past year and embracing, it seems, a new life, with new hopes, and new dreams. Of course, we know that tomorrow is just another day we wake up to, with the same lives and people and problems, but this night, between the years, we all get this glimpse of hope in our eyes, and we throw away the worries to the wind, and for just those 10-15 seconds of the countdown, we are worriless, and fearless, and free, and happy. Truly, unbelievably happy!
Every year, I feed off of the smiles, and the light in the eyes of people at midnight on New Years; the tears, the kisses, the hugs. They all seem sincere and whole! For those 10-15 seconds, I think I will always want to see and be around “people”, to renew my jaded energy from an old, tired and “silly” year that passed, and appreciate being human again. It gives me fuel for the new beginning …
It was a smart choice to go out. Food was unbelievable (more on that later); people were friendly and welcoming; music was great. I told my sister I need to go to Romania every 5-6 years for a wedding to REALLY dance, because in the US no one dances… Well, not so on New Years. Old and young, fat and skinny, beautiful and plain were dancing their hearts out. I felt right at home …
I felt right at home, with strangers all around me. I let the crowd swallow me, and the wine warm up my cheeks and the music sway my hips and everything was all right and easy and non-weird again.
I woke up the next day to the same cats, in the same bed as always, but coffee tasted a little sweeter today and my omelet was a tad tastier, I thought. I smile more and I am once again hopeful.
Bring it on, 2008. I am ready!