All the mad holiday rush was over and it was New Year's Day, somewhere around 1993 or 94. The tree was looking shopworn, there were crumbs of various origin all over the house, and bits of wrapping and broken ornaments were scattered to the four corners of the living room. A cold front moved in and suddenly we had snow and ice. The kids went nuts, throwing snowballs and muddying up everything. Then the lights went out and all laundry efforts halted. We munched on cold leftovers for a day or so, then my parents showed up to visit. The lights and warmth came back on as the snow started melting. Our tiny 13-inch black and white TV had little to offer in the way of entertainment (thinking now about how our phones aren't much smaller than that). Someone got to talking about onion rings and chili dogs, and next thing you know, we all bundled up and headed to Atlanta, to the Varsity. At the time, we had a big conversion van. So with the four kids and the grandparents, we slip-slided all the way there. The roads were empty and we sincerely wondered whether the restaurant would be open. But without much else to do, we whooped and hollered, the winter doldrums passing on by. Once we got there, with no lines, we were greeted with the traditional: "What'll ya have?!" Everyone chowed down on all the goodies: chili dogs, onion rings, frosted orange shakes, and the piece de resistance - deep fried peach pies. This was the taste of my childhood, back when Daddy worked downtown at the Post Office. He was the coach of the softball team and many evenings we were treated to grease of the best kind. Not all the Yankees that we have taken there think that it's so wonderful. I don't think much of tenderloin sandwiches either, but my Yankee Mama will drive many miles to get one, since Culver's decided to venture South. That is one big hunk of dry, mealy meat, but she thinks it's the best. Childhood might warp our sense of taste. I mean, baby birds think worms are fantastic.
This trip to the Varsity became our New Years Day tradition. No sweating over black eyed peas, turnip greens and cornbread. We just laze into the vehicles and head there -- 6:00 p.m. on New Year's Day. At best count, it's been around thirty years of this. Some years we went to the one in Kennesaw -- it's all spiffy and new, with the same menu. But somewhere in there, Jon, our eldest son, put his foot down and said that we have to go to the real one in downtown Atlanta. Covid messed us up a couple of times too. We've invited extended friends and family, often filling up that middle room where the TV is (because there's always a football game on in there too...Papa is pretty sensitive about that).
Last night, we also had a pre-Varsity party at our eldest son and daughter-in-love's house, since they were sick at Christmas and missed the presents. We snacked, opened gifts, did a craft with the kids (d-i-l Christmas Queen) and then headed to Atlanta. It was surreal and sweet, sitting there once again and seeing all the life busting out everywhere and getting that many grandkid hugs in one night. We are definitely filling up a room these days.
Today it's January 2. It's cool now to scoff at resolutions, but I think it's healthy to reassess my life, even if it takes an excuse like New Year's Day to do it. We're full up with sugar, grease and some ten extra pounds. To keep on going like we're going would be pretty dumb. I heavily dislike winter, especially when they're cold and wet in Georgia. But God must have reasons for these kinds of seasons: slow down, contemplate the universe, do some inside projects, drink warm beverages, read good books (and the Good one). What'll ya have?
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