It was my sophomore year at CU, when my best friend and my fraternity big brother and I went to Breckenridge. We were part of a group renting a condo for a ski weekend. I had stopped trying to ski at all by that point, but I went for the trip regardless. My best friend and I rented a snowmobile and went on a trail ride, while my big brother skied, so I got at least one day out on the mountain. The rest of the time I wandered around town, taking photos of snow sculptures that were part of the annual competition. (For the longest time, I kept a black and white print of a Sleeping Beauty sculpture that I'd submitted for my photography class that semester. I wonder whether I still have it.) The rest of that trip was a haze of college partying, staying up late and drinking and probably smoking (knowing my big brother). It was just a single weekend, and most of the details are lost to me, but it left an imprint of feeling that I've never shaken, in three decades since.
The entire gang was tired today, between hangovers, staying out all night, and just unwinding on a day where no one had to work. We agreed that we would meet next door to get caught up on Doctor Who (we were four episodes behind) and eat the traditional New Year's Day foods. I cooked, because that's what I do. I made black-eyed peas and a ham hock in the Instapot, and it was empirically perfect, all modesty aside. I added in buttered cabbage and cornbread, and T provided homebrew beer and wine. T also had a big fire going all evening, to battle the bitter cold outside. It was a feast for the senses as well as our bellies.
I wore silky soft long underwear underneath sweat pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt, and my socks were super soft as well. I didn't bother to brush my hair before I twisted it up into a messy bun, and I wore no makeup. T and Mr S-P were both in jammies and robes, and the kids were all dressed casually. Sprawled on the giant couch, with my family and friends (and really, they're all both now), it felt like that weekend in Breckenridge, specifically the slumber party aspect of it. The room was dark and warm and cozy, the intoxicants flowed freely, the jokes were raunchy and sophomoric, and the night felt stolen from time. I've always sworn that New Year's Eve and Day are magical for me, that they set the tone for how the whole year will go. If spending evenings with my daughters and being happy and relaxed with the gang are how 2019 will be for me, then bring it on. I will walk into it joyfully.
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