What Not To Do On New Year’s Eve

It was brewing in my head, the deep and meaningful New Year’s Eve story. It was going to be called “Peace Of Mind”, and be about how we should all, in our (theoretically) universal desire for world peace, begin by finding peace within ourselves. I had a vision of the picture for the opening…a graceful luminara lantern, back-lit by a magnificent sunset, floating out over the water. What I wound up with was a little different, another chapter in the book of best-laid plans gone wrong. Luckily, I did not wind up in jail, and the resulting story goes like this…

It began as we left church on Christmas Eve. We had been invited to attend an evening celebration at a multi-lingual church, and it was a lovely service, with the story and carols in English, Spanish, and Tagalog. As we left the church, we were given packaged luminara paper lanterns, to help spread the Light and the Word. Immediately, the idea sprouted in my brain. I would send them forth on New Year’s Eve, spreading my wish for the New Year to bring us closer to living in a world without the need for boundaries and walls, a world in which people do not have to uproot their families to flee hunger, poverty, violence. For a world in which the extension of a helping hand is not a debate, but a given. Idea germinating, I tucked the packages away.

New Year’s Eve day, and I was on my own. Marc was traveling back from a work trip, and Carter was out, too. My loose plan was to take my kayak out, light the lanterns, and let them sail away over the water. All while trying not to capsize, or set myself on fire, or drop my camera into the water. Or all three. That should have been the first red flag that I had not thought the plan through entirely.

The day began with blue sky, sunshine and calm waters. But by the time I got organized, had unpacked my cold-weather paddling gear, and was ready to load the kayak into the truck, the wind had picked up. I have been caught on windy waters enough times to know that my mission was over before it had even begun. However, my husband will tell you that once I get an idea in my head, I am like a terrier with a rat…not gonna let it go. Plan B, then, would be to wait until dark, then send them out from the beach. I will not divulge which beach, as it could be any beach within the approximately 857 miles of Puget Sound and coastal Washington shores. If left unchaperoned, for even just a day, I tend to wander off, and could wind up anywhere. When I call my husband, and he asks where I am, I can tell he is holding his breath for the answer. In my mind, no drive is too long for a legitimate purpose, and “legitimate purpose” is mine to define.

While waiting for dark to fall, I busied myself with activities. One of those activities should have been pulling out the lantern packages and reading the instructions and warning labels. As the afternoon came to a close, I was delighted to see an unusually vivid sunset building, and Plan B quickly switched to Plan C. I thought that if I timed it right, the lanterns could fly into the sky with a hot pink and orange stage setting. I dropped what I was doing, grabbed the packages and the lighter, hopped in the car, and arrived at the beach within minutes. Sadly, the sunset was of the flash-in-the-pan category, and by the time I arrived, it had faded to a nondescript dusk. Undaunted, I sped-read the instructions, and headed to the edge of the receding tide. The package instructions mentioned two people, each one carrying out a separate part of the task. “Never mind”, I thought, “I have two hands!” Red flag number two. One of those tasks should have been to spend a moment checking which way the wind was blowing. It didn’t seem that windy, and my vision was for the lantern to float out over the water, then gracefully fall, close enough to shore that I could easily retrieve the litter.

Apparently, the lantern did not receive my memo.

I successfully inflated the lantern, without tearing the paper. After much effort, I finally got the flame to take hold of the patch of what looked like highly flammable roofing, escaping any scorching chemicals dripping off and burning my arm. With my phone in one hand, ready to film the magical event, I held the lantern steady with the other hand, willing the flimsy paper to stand up straight and not ignite my hair. While I waited for the “interior airspace to heat up, become hot to the touch, and tug at the hold”, indicating its readiness to take flight, I began to wonder “Exactly how hot to the touch?” I did not have to wait long, however, and as I snapped a quick picture, then pushed “record” on my phone camera, the lantern began to rise gracefully. Then, as I watched, it took a hard left, away from the water, and as though drawn by a magnetic force, head right to the top of a lone landmark tree, where it snagged in the uppermost branches, a good 60 feet in the air, fully on fire.

Frozen in horror, I pictured the tree becoming engulfed in flames, the wind whipping up and blowing the sparks to the buildings across the street, and the entire historic neighborhood going up in flames. It only took me about 15 seconds to decide that I had better call the fire department, and now, not after the tree started burning. I dialed 911, trying to be calm while I explained where I was, what I had done, that they should kindly hurry, and that yes, the park and pier are on the water. I had already given my name and number, so when they strongly suggested I wait for the fire truck, it was then I realized I was probably about to be in big trouble. I ran across the street, to the first house I could see with lights on, and tapped on the window, startling the woman inside. She refused to come to the door, so I did my best to pantomime “fire/can I use your hose/of course I called 911” through the window, with no success. Other neighbors ambled down the road, having noticed a strange blaze. We all stood and watched the lantern burn, twist in the wind and drop down a few branches. They had small children with them, and it was cold out, so they decided the excitement potential was not high enough, and headed back home. I stood there alone, praying that the lantern would burn itself out, and waited for the fire truck.

I heard the rumble of the engine before I saw the flashing lights. I watched the truck as it started down the narrow, winding road, miss the turn, then stop on the hill above me, lights still flashing. I waited for them to turn around and circle back, again wondering how the dispatcher could have misunderstood the words “beach, pier, water”. I could hear them talking loudly on their radios, and I could see the spotlight dancing around through the trees, then honing in on a column of smoke, three blocks above me. “What are the odds?”, I thought…two fires in one neighborhood. I turned around to check the lantern, and as I watched, it sputtered out.

I continued to wait, and watch the activity on the hill. Not feeling free to leave the scene of the potential crime just yet, I called 911 again, and reported that my fire seemed to have gone out, and if they had their hands full with a real fire, then carry on, but I just wanted to inform them that they had not actually come to the place that I had called in. While I was explaining my location, yet again, and listening to the jurisdictional excuse-making (don’t they look at maps or have the ability to Google a park, for goodness sake?!) a fire marshal truck rolled down the hill. He said they had been given the wrong address, but had seen the smoke, and followed it. The other fire had turned out to be just a fire pit in someone’s yard. He shone his spotlight on the lantern, still high in the tree, and we stood together amiably, and watched for a bit to make sure it was really out. I apologized for wasting their time, but he was very kind, and had a sense of humor about the whole thing. He advised me that lanterns were illegal, especially in a park, even though it was a beach. He laughed when I said I got it at church, so that should have made it okay.

Satisfied that the lantern was out, he absolved me of any crime, including littering. I had only been joking when I said maybe I should climb the tree to retrieve it, but he seemed truly alarmed at the prospect, and replied that nobody would be climbing any trees that night. The location of the alleged crime shall remain a mystery, though the evidence remains. As I drove away, I thought about the folks with the bonfire, and wondered if they were trying to figure out which neighbor had called the fire department on them, and maybe one did, because the whole area now smelled of choking, thick smoke. I thought about stopping to apologize, then decided that I had escaped with my anonymity intact, and that in spite of myself, I had also escaped public shame, defense of lawsuits by insurance companies, and possible financial ruin, and I should leave it at that. So I did. Until the next day…

NEW YEAR’S LANTERN LIGHTING, PART TWO (WITH ADULT SUPERVISION)

Marc had arrived home the previous night, just in time to ring in the New Year. The next morning, while mulling over ideas on how to spend New Year’s Day, I said I only had one wish: To be on or near the water between 3:30 and 4:45 in the afternoon. I suggested we go kayaking, but that idea was not met with enthusiasm. He mentioned needing to stop by the marina to run the engine on the boat, and I suggested we take the boat out…same response. “You do know it’s 39 degrees out, right?” he asked. We finally settled on a long walk, and on the way out the door, I tossed the remaining lantern and the lighter into my backpack.

We enjoyed the sunshine on a loop around Chamber’s Bay, then decided on lunch and a stop at the waterfront along Ruston Way. He knew that my requested window of time included plans to light the lantern, but was annoyed about all my specifications for the location and process. He said “It’s supposed to fly up in the air, who cares where it lands?” Oh boy. I had refrained from telling him about my escapade the night before, and to further my own amusement, I was keeping the details around the current day’s plan a secret. I told him I needed a beach with some driftwood, and would need to find something resembling a shingle. We arrived at the waterfront, and the tide had cooperated, leaving a small crescent of beach next to the Chinese Reconciliation Park, complete with a tee-pee of driftwood from which to choose my wood.

My plan, this time, was to tie the lantern to a piece of wood, light the lantern, take pictures of it while it accommodated by hovering politely just off shore, then pull the wood and lantern in by the pre-attached leash. This plan was hatched with the dual hopes that the lantern would not fly into Old Town of Tacoma, and burn the place to the ground, and that if the lantern actually flew out to sea, I could retrieve the jetsam, so as not to be a litterbug and menace to sea life. Great plan, in theory. If my father in law had been in attendance, he would have likely pointed out the flaws in my thermodynamics plan. This also brings up the point that while I aced biology, I got a D in physics. And that D was a gift from a compassionate teacher.

When we reached the beach, I test floated a few pieces of driftwood, but most were waterlogged or the wrong shape and size. A stump caught my eye, floating about 25 feet from the beach, and it had a few sticks poking out that seemed perfect for tying on the lantern and retrieval leashes. My sarcastic assistant noted that if only I had a rope, I could lasso it and pull it in. I smugly opened my backpack, and pulled out the MacGyver kit I had put together after our walk, from items scrounged out of the truck work box. Unfortunately, the rope was not long enough. I pulled the longest log out of the tee-pee structure, and we attempted to hook the stump and pull it in, but without success. The temperature had risen to a balmy 42 degrees, so I removed my shoes and socks, and waded out to pull it in by hand. Sadly, we discovered that there was a long branch sticking out on the bottom, and my plan to push it out to sea with my foot as the lantern began to rise did not appear feasible.

I finally settled on a piece of wood from the beach, and set about tying the lantern to the wood with an old pair of headphones, and the long rope was attached for the tether. For Round Two, I took full advantage of the extra pair of arms, and assigned tasks accordingly. In retrospect, said extra pair of arms will claim that they were not fully informed of the plan in advance, and therefore were unable to offer adequate assistance. The mouth associated with said arms, however, was free to blurt out on-the-fly commentary. Some of the helpful pointers included “You are going to get hypothermia”, “People are starting to stare”, “Is this really worth it if we catch fire and burn up?”, and “Pull back your hair!” If only he knew… A demand was also put forth for extra brownie points for participating in a “cockamamie plan full of holes”. All I could do was giggle and continue with the plan.

Suffice it to say the launch was a failure. We lit the torch, but the wind kept trying to deflate the lantern and catch the sides on fire. Waves began to roll in, pitching the wood from side to side, and after having put my shoes and socks back on, I wound up standing ankle-deep in the water anyway. The lantern did indeed try to take off, but apparently, the vague idea behind thermodynamics and hot air balloons and luminara lanterns is the “rising up”, which had been reigned in by the headphones. I am sure I will be schooled on this theory later, by the father in law. The good news is that my hair did not catch fire, neither of us suffered any burns, the onlookers were kind enough to scatter without comment, and for a brief moment, before toppling over in defeat, the lantern glowed with life. And before I gathered it up, it filled with sea water, became opaque, and suspended under the clear water, looking like a giant jellyfish, which amused me. The added benefit for my husband was the opportunity to make an umbrella “I told you so” analysis. Especially after I declined to walk back around the way we came, and climb up the rockery instead. No sooner had he closed his mouth after saying I would probably twist my knee in the process, that my sandy foot slipped on the first rock, and with a fully audible crack, I twisted my knee. Adult supervision can be very, very annoying.

What is the moral of this story? I’m not totally sure, but my first thought is that whether I go in with no plan, or a fully hatched plan, the outcome can be equally bad. Conversely, if wind direction, water temperature, ample availability of driftwood and scraps of rope all land within my favor, good luck and fortune may be the result. You never know unless you try.

Circling back to my original story idea, I really do believe that world peace has to start with inner peace. If we practice pessimism, negativity, road rage, gossip, sharp tongues and short tempers, we will never achieve peace. Not on a personal level, not within the family, not within the community, and certainly not on a global scale. No matter what your beliefs are, whether you ask “What would Jesus do?”, or mutter “Do the right thing” to yourself, or “Make good choices” to your children, or quote our Former First Lady, “When they go low, we go high”, we can all make choices, every minute of every day, that can bring peace and goodwill to all mankind. These are things I try to work on every day, and am a long way from achieving. But I will continue to try. And as an afterthought, I should probably add “read package instructions before opening” to the list.

Happy New Year…may you make good choices, may you find peace within, and may you spread that peace and light before you. Without starting any fires.