Hogmanay: Three Waltzes

Hogmanay is the six-hour Scottish ball K. and I attend each New Year's Eve. It does double duty as a reunion of Swarthmore and Pinewoods friends, and is therefore much beloved by me.

Waltz one was with K., of course, just after the Grand March—the procession around the room, peacocked couples arm in arm, joining in fours and then eights and then dividing back down to two again. We danced the first dance, Joie de Vivre, together. Then carpenter reserved me for Reel of the Royal Scots; fiddling twin Karen grabbed my hand and yanked me onto the dance floor for Davy Nick Nack just as I was about to ask Miriam to dance; Ellen and I reluctantly completed a set for Argyll Strathspey, despite the scary tournée; and Miriam and I found each other at last for Adieu Mon Ami, which was, as it happened, the most romantic strathspey on the program. (I do love two-hand-turns.)

Waltz two was with Miriam, after everyone linked hands around the hall to sing Auld Lang Syne at midnight, with me jammed between K. and Miriam and her sister Sarah, a joyful welcome to 2005 (and let it be better than 2004, please?), and then abandoning poor hobbling reldnahkram when we all skipped pell-mell into the center to laugh and greet the people opposite. Miriam (in her pretty sparkly blue prom dress) and Sarah had to vanish after the waltz, which left me to comfort myself with the three trestle tables of food that had been brought out: cheesecake with strawberry preserves, a tasty ham, white chocolate chip cookies, mousse pie, cheese fondue, more and more and more.

At the end of the night, since K. was curled up in a mousey ball on a couch downstairs, I danced waltz three with Ellen, the excessively pretty goth redhead from Pinewoodses past, and whispered to her of a certain someone I knew who had a crush on her, which made her giggle and beam. It was a joy to discover her and Karen at Hogmanay, since they are normally bound in Boston's orbit. I didn't dance during the second half, concentrating instead on near-constant cuddling, taking photos, a chat with the resplendent meganpowell in a back hallway—which was postponed by little Jessica, who is just shy of 8 but shy in no other ways whatsoever, and who attached herself to my leg, Gollum-style, and would not let go.

Hogmanay is a little burst of color and music and warmth from the depth of winter, a fleeting chance to see bare calves and shoulders and backs again. The contrast this year was not as marked as it has been, since the temperature outside was in the lovely 50s, but the sensation of quenching what was parched in me was as strong as ever.

Recovery

I carried my guitar to the recovery party, down in Delaware at Dave Wiesler's house, after a lunch with my dad where we shook our heads helplessly at the things USAir is doing to him and the rest of its employees. (The luggage catastrophe was a job action, he said, but he didn't approve of it. "You don't take away somebody's Christmas," he said.) Dave sat down at the piano shortly after I arrived, and David Knight picked up his fiddle, and I sat with my guitar in a loose semicircle of the nonprofessionals: Larry on whistle, Lance and Nora on fiddle, Chloe on bodhran, someone on an accordian.

Like Tiny Tim miraculously healed, I threw away my crutch for the first time: I played without sheet music. Dave called out key changes from time to time, and when we switched to English tunes I got up to glance at Barnes once in a while, but for the most part I was able to puzzle out the key by ear and play the right chords often enough to get by. In fact, when they switched to Eb (tricky for the git) and I left to tune, I returned to find Dave and David laughingly apologizing for driving me off and asking solicitously which keys were best for me. I was able, after a brief refresher glance, to get through Levi Jackson off-book—and that goes through, like, forty-three keys. It was another rung on my personal long ladder toward competence—and I think I caught a couple of cute young things watching me as I played.

I added a new technique to my repertoire, too—I tried holding a shaker-egg cupped in my right palm while I strummed, which added a nice "shecka-sh-shecka" rhythm to the tunes. Gotta get me one of them, soon soon.

I spent the rest of the party snacking and snuggling, nestled on the couch with Ellen and Karen and flammifera. And that was pleasant indeed, but I kept watching out the window for Miriam, who was supposed to arrive with stowaway_geek but never did; flat tires had kept them at home. And then she wasn't at Greylock when we got back to Swarthmore afterward...and then the other people I hadn't seen much of and very much wanted to (carpenter and zorblak and eclecticboy and stowaway_geek) went out to dinner together as soon as I got there and didn't return until shortly before I had to leave...and then I made K. mad playing Zendo, and agreed to play the Name Game to make her happy, which made me unhappy with its lack of focus...and by the time we left I was grumpy and whining. But I'm willing to blame most of it on lack of sleep, if you are.

I was unhappy about the incomplete Zendogame, since I came up with what I thought was a nifty rule, and K. and Larry gave up before figuring it out. I wanted to try it on experienced players, like zorblak and Prime, but their late return made that impossible. I'd still like to try it again sometime.