I sit here not knowing yet what to write, feeling obligated to put down words before the end of year 2012. All around my body is a crushed black velvet robe; a birthday present I gave myself yesterday, and one I’m treasuring. I’m treating myself the way I want to be spoiled.
I long imagined myself as a grand dame dressed in silks and this black velvet robe with heavenly slippers as shiny as silver, roaming the house with my trusty black cat, sometimes sitting at my desk — which once was a vanity dresser with a lit-up mirror like the ones showgirls use but converted into part writer’s desk, part artist’s drawing board, with a little Pagan altar facing northeast on the corner where a basil and citron candle softly burns — and peacefully meditating, taking in the silence as if my will alone has made all the world gone still. I wonder… why my desire for luxury and my penchant for setting a stage like this, making myself seem to play the part of a past life character (an actress, perhaps?) drives my happiness. Of course I do not believe I am this character. I believe in making believe, but not in believing in the realities I create.
I like dressing up.
New Year’s Eve has formality to it — when I go out, even if to only sip some bubbly and receive a hug (instead of that foreverly hoped-for kiss… someday it’ll happen, maybe next year, this year?) — I dress up, get my nails done, make my hair look and smell good enough to eat, bathe in perfume, and walk in high heels. If you can’t get a kiss on New Year’s Eve (a kiss from a stranger is good luck for both you and the stranger), wear something new and shiny, preferably a hat or headband, anything to decorate your crown. I do not know if it is an “official” tradition from any one culture, but I remember being told by my elders that showing off your crown was a sign of prosperity on New Year’s Eve.
Dress for the occasion and Fortune will reward you with many blessings in the year to come!
We meet the New Year in our finest clothes, be it to show off our wealth or to attend the funeral of the passing year. But, better yet, could it be a custom, like I suspect, like a spell to welcome luxury?
I was born the day before the last day of the year. Every time I get one year older, it almost happens unnoticed. Celebrating my birthday is often postponed until days later after all the New Year’s hoopla. Yet sometimes New Year’s Eve and New Year’s day feel like an extension of my birthday. So, as I sit here in my butter-cream-soft black velvet, enjoying every silky-fuzzy warm sensation of wearing a prize to the point where I feel I am ‘the prize!’, I feel like the whole world is partying with me. I love it.
I hope you’re having a good one. Why don’t you come up and see me sometime, hmmm?