The garbage truck gulped down a few more Christmas trees on
Allen Street today. A sure sign that the patina of New is giving way to the
under-layer of Nu? which is Yiddish for “So?” with a dose of irony: So: what did you
expect? So, whaddyagonna do? So, that’s
life.
I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with New. I like
preserving that New Year’s spun-sugar Fabergé-egg pristineness all day, taking
a new year’s walk in the cold sunshine, saying Happy New Year to a passing
stranger like you’re hand-delivering a card, getting home for the Viennese
waltz broadcast, and admiring the new calendar—Japanese woodblock prints taking
over from Georgia O’Keeffe—even though half of January’s days are already
inscribed with appointments. Keep it new.
But there’s no denying the long guttural drawl of the
garbage truck pulling up like a foraging dinosaur. Nu? Whaddya got for me?
White bags with red drawstring bows? Brown bags chockablock with recycled
bottles, boxes, and other bric-a-brac? Toss it in. What, that’s it? No
appliances, no mattress, no bales of Boston Globes going back to last summer?
That’s okay. I’ll be back.
Turns out New gets old in a hurry But luckily there’ll be another behemoth
coming next Tuesday to take it away with a belch and a familiar groan.
Nu? You were expecting something else?
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