One of the markets here had a sale on prosecco, so I bought a bottle of that. Lacking the proper glassware, I'll be drinking it from a heavy beer glass, but I doubt that will affect the effect, as it were. This is, of course, assuming I can even get the bottle opened. I have no experience with opening sparkling wine bottles with their elaborate stoppage, and anything remotely mechanical is apt to give me a bad time. I'm sure these things can smell fear. I should probably down some vodka before even trying, just to calm down, but then I remember never mix never worry, so maybe not.
Something I remembered this evening is the Midwinter editions of the Los Angeles Times that were published this time of year when I was a kid. They were mostly for promotion of tourism, and featured an oversized magazine full of pictures of southern Californian things, and a review of the previous year's local events and articles about what would be happening the next year. About 1959 I began saving these magazines, but the paper stopped publishing them just a few years later. Still I had several issues stuck away in a drawer somewhere, and one day intended to dig them out and look at them again. Now I will never know what memories of those times they might have triggered— memories now drifted away like smoke or turned to cold ash sitting in the depopulated silence of a winter night amid the devastation.
Okay, now I've thoroughly re-depressed myself. Happy New Year to all, and I hope nobody ever has a year as bad as the one I've just been through. I know what I'll remember 2018 for. I wish I could forget it.