I don't know about you, but the new year's thing doesn't mean much to me. An arbitrary day someone somewhere chose as the final entry in the current edition of the Gregorian calendar, tonight to be used as an excuse for a whole lot of partying. Not that there's anything wrong with that (apart from the intense concentration of godawful television packed into this one evening) -- I just can't say I've ever felt anything but a slight sense of insert sound of shoulders shrugging here over it all.
An arbitrary point in the ongoing flow of moments, no different, really, from the moments that came before or will come after. (Except that part of the planet have marked that moment as the beginning of another year in the western calendar, and therefore a reason for journalists to draw up one top ten list after another concerning aspects of the previous year. And, here in Spain, a reason for people to choke down 12 grapes -- one grape for each of the year's last 12 seconds -- to usher in the new year with luck.)
That, in fact, was one of the ways I knew Christmas had truly passed on by -- two mornings ago, during a long walk through the narrow streets of the city center, I stopped in at the humongo grocery store in the basement el Corte Inglés and noted that tables formerly covered with boxes of Christmas sweets now featured a final few sad unclaimed boxes of sweets and many stacks of small brightly-labeled cans (many in three-packs), each containing 12 grapes. I could only smile at the entrepreneurial chutzpa in action. Television ads for canned grapes commenced immediately after midnight on Christmas night and have been unavoidable ever since (assuming one has the TV on -- leaving it off is an easy solution).
Many hundreds of thousands of folks will gather in la Plaza de la Puerta del Sol tonight, the very center of Madrid, for the customary cramming together to see in the new year amid screaming, shouting, drinking, eating, all leading up to the countdown/grape-chokedown. Followed by more partying into the wee, wee hours. A tradition's a tradition, I guess.
Now, though, two or three hours before intense crowds arrive, the city's looking mighty pretty. Families and couples (local and foreign) out walking, buildings and streets strung with lights, music playing. A kind of scene that feels extremely good to stroll through.
I have a pending invitation to a small dinner next door, but I'm seriously considering staying in, in part to observe a couple of passages of my own that are happening at this time.
However you observe or ignore this transition, I hope it brings something satisfying, whatever that might mean for you.
See you next year.
Madrid, te quiero.
rws 8:56 AM [+]
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