The song's Scots title may be translated into English literally as "old long since", or might be loosely translated as "for (the sake of) old times". And we were so fortunate that there were many many ‘old times’.
For over a dozen years, friends “up on the hill” gave a new year’s bash that was, by all accounts, extraordinary. Black tie, lovely gowns, superb food and ever flowing champagne, famous guests, sparkling conversations and us. Each year we continued to receive an invitation in the mail, and each year was more exciting than the next. Whether our careers were waxing or waning, these people were our friends. We were still kids all dressed like grown ups. Once a year we appeared in glamorous garb but our friends also saw us in office dress code, ski gear, bathing suits and occasionally in less than becoming stances and attitudes. We grew, over the years, from young adults to responsible real life adults. The discussions moved from rock concerts, new restaurants and ski trips to mortgages, backyard grilles and schools. It seemed that it would always be like this, and then one year no invitation came; like us, their lives had changed, our hosts had moved and it was time for all of us to change directions. Nonetheless, the closet was full of long gowns and great memories.
A group of us, by now old friends, rallied and for another number of years we held a table at the Raymond restaurant. The restaurant was famous for two things: great food; and its location. It was/is located on Raymond Avenue in Pasadena. There were two seatings; we reserved the later seating, a large table by the windows. Windows were very important since it gave us the perfect view to watch the parade floats come by as they were put into place for the next day’s Rose Parade. Between courses, we would take our champagne flutes and walk amongst the floats as they were jostled into place. At midnight in the restaurant, a trio of trumpeters from the USC marching band would arrive and play ‘auld lang syne', not loudly, but softly and slowly, not to herald in the new year, but to say good-bye to the old year. Inevitably, the entire restaurant would come to a quiet standstill while we all silently said our own good-byes to the year past, the adventures spent and the friends who remained and those we had lost. Auld Lang Syne. It was always exciting to get up on New Years morn and watch the parade on TV, wearing our jammies, nursing a bit of a thumper, and hearing about the work that went into building each float. A float that we had seen the night before, we learned, had taken a year to build, flowers that we had touched were from exotic locales, and we would smile to realize that there we had been, walking among them, up close we could see what truly dedicated work went into putting each float together.
Years passed, for all of us triumphs and disappointments abounded. Our lush manes and beards thinned and greyed. Strong bodies grew weak. And what remained behind, of course, were memories. Years and years, thankfully, of great memories, of old times, of old friends. So, today when news of an old friend’s passing arrives, we mourn; part of us dies because their memories of us are dead. Part of who we are, and were, is gone; conversely when someone from our past appears, it brings new life to our old one. We cheer for their remembrances and ours; auld lang syne. Still, it does not change, as each year passes we say so many good-byes. To friends who have gone before us, to working lives, to past lives and places. As each new year dawns, I’m reminded of a stanza from one of Walt Whitman’s poems:
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find Strength
in what remains behind.
Auld Lang Syne
