December, of course, was the tenth month of the Roman Calendar, and, in their time, and long after, the western world began the new year in March. Today, many other cultures still await the approach of spring to begin a new year. How so sensible a custom came to be lost to our culture, I don't know, but I do wish that it could be restored. I will admit to some envy of the inhabitants of the southern hemisphere, who get to hold their new year's parties in the warm summer night.
But, in a few hours, drunken people all over North America will go out into the cold, make noise, and sing a mournful Scottish song while freezing their asses off in the most misguided of all holidays. I, as I have since I came to this chilly place, shall ignore them. I will hear the illegal fireworks, the horns, the local buffoon who owns a siren of the sort once used on fire engines and police cars, but I will not join in the cacophony. I will reassure my distressed cats that the noise is only noise, and I will note that Tuesday has ended, and another Wednesday has begun. Happy new month to all.