So there I was sitting on the couch New Year’s Eve with the dog watching clips of the best numbers from musicals of the 30s, 40s and 50s. Watching the crowds in Times Square didn’t interested me much. Last year Janet slept through it.
That’s how we spent most of our New Year’s Eves. We never cared for being with a bunch of people who had too much to drink and therefore talked too loud and too much. I noticed the dog—a Chihuahua which weighs no more than eight pounds—was shivering. I looked around and then remembered I had put all the doggy blankets on to wash. I went to a closet and pulled out one and wrapped her up. She seemed content.
Then I noticed which one I had selected. It was a home-made quilt I bought from a local lady made quilts on a treadle sewing machine. I had picked out the colors I thought Janet would like and had the seamstress embroider a message on the back.
“You and No Other, Love Jerry, Christmas 2009.”
That was an expression men often had engraved on the back of bracelets for their wives in the 1700s. Sometimes they put it in French.
“Tu, et non autre.”
For one wedding anniversary I bought her a pewter pendant with the English on one side and French on the other. She liked it so much I decided to put it on the quilt too.
So there I sat on New Year’s Eve with the dog that used to cuddle with Janet wrapped up in the quilt made for Janet. Despite the ravenous cancer that took her physically away from me, Janet was still there on New Year’s Eve. We haven’t missed one together in 45 years. Nothing will change that.