ʃɪd o̜ːld ə.kwɛn.təns bi fər.ɡot

Should Old Acquaintance be forgot,
and never thought upon;
The flames of Love extinguished,
and fully past and gone:
Is thy sweet Heart now grown so cold,
that loving Breast of thine;
That thou canst never once reflect
On old long syne.

Of course whenever this incantation is sung aloud, it is already too late for reconciliation, but the sentiment and the nostalgic question is noteworthy.  As always the appropriate singer is  a Scotsman, fragrant with Lagavulin, beer & haggis.
What first comes to mind are the torrid letters from a past girlfriend (when we sill called them that); Letters ritually burned in my weber grille just before leaving my old apartment, for a new city and a new beginning... The Bobby Burns song begins by posing a rhetorical question: Is it right that old times be forgotten? The answer is generally interpreted as a "call to remember long-standing friendships".[9]  It is always appropriate to know where one comes from and how they have landed exactly here -- Which begins within the retro-perspectival tunnel of contemplation. Like Dickensian Time-Travel, ghosts revisit us on holidays to poke fun.   But... to become well regarded, is to become wealthy.

Remembering this oft dreadful feeling of kissing goodbye, The songs, and sounds of celebrants as they snore, and sleep off an entire year's worth of forgettable moments, is classic "Old Lang Syne". Half drunk cans of  still beer remains -- Memories, many will try to erase, linger before their inevitable reboot.  Good Morning! What is it which most harkens in the New year? Dread? Is it the pursuit of some mythical newness?, as if a clock tower could ring absolution. Or is it the feeling of cheating on your past, expecting a clean slate for all of one's crimes? Absolution is the auld lang syne.
​
This (largely plagiarized) Robert Burns poem most encapsulates:
A. Post-trump-era funk.
B. The Seasonal affective disorder of January 1.
C. Post-Covid Identity-Crisis malaise.
D. The end of Western democratic mismanagement over all human endeavor. 
E. Selfish dismantlement of social order, whilst taking our lovely contentment for granted.
F. All of the Above

ʃɪd o̜ːld ə.kwɛn.təns bi fər.ɡot
The Internet Bubble having truly popped, smearing hot plastic trash everywhere, broken vacuums, charging-cords, cardboard boxes blanketing our otherwise lovely landscape. We are left to consider, if forgetting isn't (perhaps) better than remembering where we'd gone wrong. The Blahs are indeed real, but they are not a ready replacement for being happy. oːld ə.kwɛn.təns come at a person without invite, and they are hard to ward off. They naturally come mid-winter, when my vitamin D levels have bottomed-out. They reliably arrive on "January One".

Last year I broke up with my entire family, but not over something petty. Nor for semantic differences.  Nor because of Covid, Vaccines, Fauci, Trump, Palestine, nor merely for their actual behaving badly, (as they have), but not before trying -- I left them for my own mental health.
​Considered justifications bounced off of many close friends -- My 'real' relatives, returned similar astonishment as to how my very darling siblings could have become so conceded, so base, and so petty, as to be unwilling to participate in "family" whatsoever for decades -- And then to criticize those who do it well.
As comparisons go, we all split up with friends over politics, babies, pets, recycling, global warming, sports teams, venereal diseases...  And for many, having moved to some smug suburb, ostensibly keeping their families safe, this broadens the gap of our very different lives. But Family had, (until now), seemed immune to dissolution. And our differences had seemed not so far apart. Our cohesion mandatory, unwavering.

There is nothing new in the act of falling away from former friends. As one discovers, adjusts, and rearranges how they'd like to be perceived.  People change -- Plain and simple.  Families also change, but unlike "All In The Family", or "The Brady Bunch", there is no special connective tissue preventing a family from decomposing. Few of us consider how to navigate our lives with the goal of later being well regarded.  Instead we adopt a new crowd when the old one no longer suits our interests.
Moving away from old college friends, or relocating for work... A family, nearly always appeared as this thing which (I'd imagined) was permanent.  Much like the home one grows up in, had seemed a hub to a wheel of growth. Elastic bands stretched out like rays from our parent's curved coffee table, allowed broad leeway, and the freedoms to invent oneself.  Yet... Retracting rubber-bands always returned siblings to it's core year over year, for what (I'd believed) was intractable, (Generally around the Holidays).
​Many rediscover religion during crisis, or death. They may attend Church during a tragedy, or Only at Christmas when feeling un-moored.  Some may say a prayer at a funeral,  But, the realignment of family always seemed nonfungible.  A warm permanence. 

​"We two have paddled in the stream,
from morning sun till dine;
But seas between us broad have roared
since auld lang syne."

It's not you, it's me, and I understand the consequence for not having worked on some relationships. Especially the ones we may take for granted.  I know the heavy lift required to reinforce these bonds.  This year however, in spite of trying my level best, I found out that family is not actually permanent. Nor in the way I'd expected, is it always there when you need it.  Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?
Is it broken, or even worth fixing? 

"Auld Lang Syne" fairly epitomizes the wishful New-Years page turn. 

I got pocket dialed by an old friend today, News Years Day. And of course, I'd received all sorts of strange out of the woodwork texts from friends, past and obscure. But the pocket dial seemed more to me that someone called to tap that Auld Lang Syne, and lost their nerve. As Holidays trace the life-lines which construct us, I'm sure that we'd all conjured similar memories for and of, those who'd helped shape our current world.  And so it goes that we reflect when we are idle enough to do so, upon our missteps, and those myriad souls who've shaped our understanding of the self. 

Whether I'm locked in prison figuratively today, or (for fuck sake) actually incarcerated... Having enough pause to reflect upon where we come from, and the connective fractals of our being, "Auld Lang Syne" fairly epitomizes the wishful New-Year's page turn.   This non-literal shortest day of the year, is always (fucking) New Years Day.  It is one generally without chores.  Where we perhaps fix the boiler, or wipe down the bar, but today, we mostly reflect upon relationships for auld lang syne ["Old Long Since"].   "Since basically forever", ...or more appropriately "Since you'd last thought about them".  Or, simply... "For Fuck-Sake".  And as the poem goes, "Auld Lang Syne's" latter verses wander through meadows picking flowers,  sharing pints, paddling rough streams... Together and apart, reminding us of what a dickhead we may have become. Nostalgia rears to shore up patterns within our human experience which bring both joy and sorrow.

My Family collapsed when my Mother died, burdened with shame and true sorrow. And as my siblings were inventing new ways of behaving badly, slinging blame for who did whatever wrong... We alas combusted in earnest whereupon my Father died nine months later.  With nothing left to bring us back together, and nothing remaining to complain about -- It alas appeared that each sibling now fostered one of two permanent familial failings:
[A.] loathing for those who'd judged them harshly for "NEVER LIFTING A FUCKING FINGER TO HELP THEIR AILING PARENTS..." Or
[B.] A throne from which to sprinkle resentment upon the selfish ones who'd "NEVER LIFTING A FUCKING FINGER TO HELP THEIR AILING PARENTS."

There is a rite of passage in saying goodbye to family, and I've recently consoled neighbors, and friends who are struggling with the same care-giver conundrum. I'm now sure that this is how many families break up, and whether they ever reconcile  remains a mystery. 

"And surely you'll buy your pint cup!, 
and surely I'll buy mine!
And we'll take a cup o' kindness yet, 
for auld lang syne."

My takeaway, grazing leftovers contemplating this short & lazy day where things often go wrong... I lounge in awe of the wishful absurdity that 'a single day', (or a single song) could wipe away past dumb-shit behavior -- If we could simply find the will to drunk-text upon new-years.  Or to pocket dial those who we know we should have kept in touch with, we'd be absolved. Hopefulness builds in the incantation of this poem.  What is most profound, I suppose is remembering, Old acquaintances', and of course reaching out to those, as awkward as that is. One should do that right?  ... yes definitely, if one is able. It is a fascinating time, and if you cannot fix it, then sing about it, and move on.

 With a full heart and speech impaired by Speyside whisky, one can recite the Scotts version, ...Although every year I return to a more melancholic Dan Fogelberg, (alto sax and all).
​

Shid ald akwentans bee firgot,
an nivir brocht[d] ti mynd?
Shid ald akwentans bee firgot,
an ald lang syn*?

Chorus:
Fir ald lang syn, ma jo,
fir ald lang syn,
wil tak a cup o kyndnes yet,
fir ald lang syn.

An sheerly yil bee yur pynt-staup!
an sheerly al bee myn!
An will tak a cup o kyndnes yet,
fir ald lang syn.

Chorus

We twa hay rin aboot the braes,
an pood the gowans fyn;
Bit weev wandert monae a weery fet,
sin ald lang syn.

Chorus

We twa hay pedilt in the burn,
fray mornin sun til dyn;
But seas between us bred hay roard
sin ald lang syn.

Chorus

An thers a han, my trustee feer!
an gees a han o thyn!
And we'll tak a richt[d] gude-willie-waucht,[d]
fir ald lang syn.
​
And there's a hand my trusty friend!
And give me a hand o' thine!
And we'll take a right good-will draught,
for auld lang syne.