When I was a little girl my mother allowed my younger sister and me to call random Vallejo numbers at midnight and ask, "Is this one nine five two?" When they'd say we had a wrong number we'd yell, "1952!" Good times. I've done my share of dancing on New Year's Eve and we would have snack attack foods on the table, darts, games, videos and dancing to encourage our children to stay home with us. One memorable Eve in San Francisco Paul squeezed onto our couch with Michael and me while we watched two videos, Alaska and Wild America. Michael and I would dance and of course watch Dick Clark and the ball drop in Times Square and kiss at midnight with a toast of sparkling cider. One year in Concord Michael and I played Chinese checkers with three homes each. We finished it a couple nights later. Making memories is important when that's all there is left. Happy New Year. 2011 here we come. Here's what was happening a while back: December 31, 1843, Nauvoo, Illinois. About fifty musicians and singers sang William W. Phelps' New Year's hymn under Joseph Smith's window.
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