New Year’s Eve 1969

Richard M. Nixon was about to be inaugurated 37th President of the US.

The Stonewall riot in New York City marked the beginning of the gay rights movement (June 28).

Apollo 11 astronauts—Neil A. Armstrong and Edwin E. Aldrin, Jr., —took the first walk on the Moon.

But frankly, none of that had mattered much to me, a new bride. By the time New Year’s Eve rolled around, I was full of romantic ideas of how my husband of three months and I should spend our first December 31 as a couple.

I imagined us lying on the floor of our one bedroom apartment, feeding to each other  freshly baked loaves of Mrs. Rhodes Bread which we would slather  with butter and jam. There wouldn’t be an inch our apartment that wasn’t filled with the exquisite aroma of fresh bread.

A restaurant dinner was not part of our plan that evening; we’d beunknownen married only three months and money was tight. Besides, we hardly got a chance to be together what with Dean’s working nights and me working days.

Champagne? Probably not. I dislike anything
bubbly. Most likely scotch…money may have been tight but we still hadn’t spend all our wedding gift money.

Our sparsely decorated tree was still up though dried needles were tumbling down as fast as the snow outside our sheet-draped window. Still, it was lovely to sit near the branches and look up at the two strings lights we could afford, a glass of scotch in one hand and a slice of bread in the other.

But it wasn’t long before too much freshly baked bread and a couple of shots of scotch let me know that my “dinner” plan was not very wise.

I turned hot, then sweaty, then….OMG! Let me in the bathroom…NOW!

Not one of our more elegant evenings.

I haven’t been able to face a glass of scotch since. On the other hand I may try Mrs. Rhodes again. After all, it’s been 47+ years.