This Year's Gumbo

My family has an annual New Year’s tradition that I love.

Our longstanding custom is for Mom and Dad to host the Colorado relatives (i.e., Dad, his two siblings and their families) on January first for a New Year’s celebration where Mom serves seafood gumbo. There is no separating these elements, and there will be no compromising: It will be January first, Mom and Dad will be hosting, and on the menu will be Mom’s rapturous seafood gumbo. This has being going on for over 35 years, without exception.

It’s who we are. It’s in my blood.

And if you understand that, you might understand that as far as I’m concerned, it’s not really the New Year until all the gumbo is gone.

Mom makes a big pot, cher. Some years, if we haven’t crowded the dinner table with out-of-town relatives, extended in-laws and cherished friends, there is some gumbo leftover at the end of the night. That represents a jackpot for the Denver relatives (i.e., me and Frere) who get sent home with tupperware containers of rice and gumbo, rolls, sometimes salad.

The homemade goodness of the take-home gumbo provides a nice cushion against the last of the celebrating and socializing that will go on before normal routines are resumed. Because Oh my God, am I tired by January second. I love my family and I am so glad to see so many cherished friends during the holiday season. This year was another year of blessed, plus blessed. But it was an advanced-level social schedule, especially for a reclusive curmudgeon like myself, especially when you add in the rich foods, late nights and extra boozing.

On our walk last night, The Handsome Man and I were comparing notes on how raggedy we felt.

“I feel like I have something in my stomach, and it’s hot, and it’s just been sitting there for the last five days.”

“I feel like there’s a film all over my skin, just a thin layer of toxins, like I’m dirty.”

Yeah, once again Handsome and I were under-equipped for the entirely welcome holiday onslaught. Fortunately, we’re through the insanity now, and back on the also entirely welcome solid ground of our normal level (i.e., intermediate level) of socializing. That’s weekend plans for big events, weeknite plans with small groups, easy-peasy professional obligations, you know.

Fittingly, Joe and I are polishing off the last of the gumbo tonight. In honor of the new year, I’ve been reviewing the year that has passed, and giving more thought to the year ahead. And I find I sort of want to do a midnight countdown and sing Auld Lang Syne.