Home on New Year's Eve

    I am typing this blog at home on New Years Eve. It’s forty-five minutes before the ball drops in Times Square. People are partying all over the world.
    But not in this house. My mother is sleeping. She’s 93 years old.
    I just photographed a Christmas light in the window of a bedroom. Seen behind the pane of glass, my neighborhood is aglow with holiday colors. It’s peaceful out there. And quiet. No revelers are present on the street.
    My neighbors’ car is parked in the driveway. They’re home. It’s the same with houses across the street. Nobody is throwing a party.
    A memory comes to mind from a trip to Brazil. I met a nurse there. She lived in Sao Paulo. I asked her what she did on Carnival, the most popular festival in that nation. She told me her family—and lots of families—didn’t take part. Instead they went camping. They preferred the quietude of nature to crowds and partying.
    For many years, I felt awkward by staying home on New Years Eve. I’d think, why wasn’t I attending a party? Everybody else was having a grand old time. Was I not normal?
    Now I realize that I was normal. Most people, I believe, are content to remain at home on New Year's Eve.