Every New Year's Day in our house (and my mother's and sister's houses), we do this thing called vasilopita. It's a Greek tradition where you bake a lucky coin into bread, then cut up the bread while announcing loudly whose slice is whose, and one lucky bread-eater chips a tooth on the coin. Usually, my mother did coffee cake. Since I'm not as Greek as she is, I often buy a cake and poke a lucky dime in the bottom of the thing. 
My point is (besides describing our fascinating Greek traditions that I actually had to google the word for, because all my life I've just called it "the lucky dime thing") last year, I got the dime. This hasn't happened since 1980, the year I won both the dime and a stuffed dog at Riverside Park. I expected great things. Did the dime deliver?
Overall, 2015 was a fabulous year. It had high points and low points, but really, there were more highs than lows. Let’s take a look:

High Points:

At the beginning of the year, in this blog post, I vowed to be more selfish. Best thing I’ve ever done. I sought out and found a job I love; I took more time for myself, even when Jason grumbled; I ate cupcakes when I wanted a cupcake. It’s made me a happier person overall. Here’s to more selfishness in 2016.

My novel, Ordinary Boy, came out in March. It’s gotten good reviews, and was even nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Also in March: shamrock shakes happened yet again. Hooray!

Bloom County came back after a twenty-six-year hiatus. Just the best news ever. I cried a little when I heard. And now I get to laugh again, every morning.

I vacationed on Block Island for the first time in four years. There were no cell phone signals where I was, no wifi, no cable television. I was forced to spend quality time with my family, and read books. It was delightful!

I was on television in September. It was anxiety-inducing and scary and fun. The guy who interviewed me is one of my favorite people in the world, so it was kind of like . . . hanging out with one of my favorite people. Overall: pretty cool.

The year ended with the announcement that my niece has finally reached Girl Scout Cookie selling age. Clearly, good things are ahead for 2016, like Thin Mints and Samoas.

Low Points:

By the end of May, three family members had been hospitalized. That kind of sucked. But all three of them are doing well now, so it all worked out!

Spring didn’t arrive in New England until June. Al Gore promised me global warming, but instead, we had snow in April. On the plus side, we haven’t really had winter yet this year.

The publisher who bought my second novel was bought out by another publisher, delaying the release of My Sister the Zombie. Kind of a bummer, but the new publisher did promise that the book should be released by the end of July. Plus, he offered me some freelance editing work, so it turned out to be a win.

I was bitten by a tick on the tushie in June, and wound up on antibiotics six weeks later. I was tired and achy and my hands went numb and I had no ambition to do anything. I can't even come up with a stupid Pollyanna spin to this. Just glad it has passed.

This fall, and on through December, either Jason or I or both of us have been sick. Colds, sinus infections, whole other colds . . . we've gone through a lot of Kleenex and DayQuil. In December, Santa informed me that I've been on the naughty list for three decades, and last night, on New Year's Eve, a fourth family member wound up in the hospital. You see, I think the dime's magic wears off toward the end of the year.

I liked 2015. It was a good year. I'll remember it fondly. Well done, magic dime. I have this year's coffee cake ready to go, and if Jason doesn't rouse out of his NyQuil coma soon, the whole coffee cake will be mine, including the magic dime. Happy New Year!
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This week from The Storyside:
Reflections on books I've ignored: "Classics I Haven't Read" by Stacey Longo (hey, that's me!)
Fabulous Free Fiction: "Sunset Anniversaries" by Rob Smales

My aunt, Auntie Joanne (her official name), is not on Facebook. (Actually, none of my aunts are, now that I think about it; nor are my parents. Considering some of the stuff that gets posted on my wall, this is probably a blessing.) Anyway, my aunt has asked me a few times to post some of the silly memes I've shared on Facebook here, on my blog, so she can see them instead of pestering her daughter to scroll through my timeline and share the funny pictures. Since I'm tired, did not have a stellar week, and am fresh out of ideas, I figured I was game. Here you go! You're welcome.

If you want more substantial fare by me this week, check out my guest post about Women in Horror on Connie Hambley's website here: http://bit.ly/staceylongo
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Did you visit The Storyside this week? Why NOT? Here's what you missed:

Wise writing advice: "Why Should I Edit?" by Rob Smales 
Reflections on Welles Turner: "Library Memories" by Stacey Longo (hey, that's me!)

Thanksgiving has always been my mother’s holiday. She’s been hosting it for as long as I can remember, and has claimed for years that it’s her favorite holiday. Maybe it is. Let’s look back at some of my fondest Thanksgiving memories and try to figure out why, because frankly, I’m stumped.

Thanksgiving 1981: My mother was particularly pleased that year to have found adorable candles in the shape of pilgrims to use as festive centerpieces. My cousins Paul, Sal, and Lori, my sister Kim and I were all kicking each other under the kids’ table, bored out of our minds, until Sal had a brainstorm: his mother, my Aunt Stephanie, had brought pigs-in-a-blanket appetizers, complete with cocktail swords stabbed through them. There were tiny plastic weapons littered throughout the house. Sal was not one to miss such a prime opportunity.

Soon, the children’s table was awash in manic giggling as Sal managed to stick a record thirty-nine plastic swords into one much-abused pilgrim candle. My mother was not amused.

Incidentally, this was the same year we discovered my cousin Lori had the brilliant talent of being able to hang a spoon from her nose. Where this magical ability came from, I don't know, but I can report that it is still impressive thirty-five years later.

Thanksgiving 1998: Fast-forward ten years. My sister was now married, and her in-laws were joining the Longos to break bread together for the holidays. The Kanes are lovely people. They surely found the farm, and our family, quaint and for the most part, not crazy (they did not know us well yet).

My mother was alarmed to catch movement out of the corner of her eye while preparing dinner. She thought she’d seen a mouse dart under the refrigerator, which, while mortifying, was not entirely unexpected that time of year on a farm. She discreetly called my father over and whispered the details of her dilemma to him. Could he eliminate the mouse before it became an embarrassing situation? Note: she forgot to say “as inconspicuously as possible.” This will become important in the next paragraph.

Dad was, of course, the perfect man for the job. He grabbed a fork, squatted down, and with the reflexes of a ninja, managed to impale the mouse on the fork in one jab. I will not go into more squeaking, squirming detail than that; I will only say that it was both incredibly impressive and truly disgusting. One of my favorite Thanksgiving stories.

Thanksgiving 2003: At this point my sister and brother-in-law had two children. Evan, who was conveniently born right around Thanksgiving, thus allowing us to combine his birthday party with the holiday every year, was turning one. He’d been napping most of the afternoon, and his Aunt Julie and I took it upon ourselves to wake him up for his party. This is because in 2003 neither of us had much experience with infants, and we were dumb.

Evan was not pleased. He screamed like a banshee, he cried, he did not want to get up right now, and why did we deprive him of sleep? Aunt Julie tried to make him laugh, and he wailed and turned purple with heartbreak over his lost nappy-time. She quickly abandoned ship and headed downstairs for pumpkin trifle. But I recognized this behavior. It was the same tear-filled tantrum I went through every morning when my alarm went off. I, too, have never understood why grown-ups think that anything, even cake, is more important than sleep. It was in that moment, while I was cooing to my angry, heartbroken nephew who'd had his blissful nap interrupted, that I realize something truly special: we were kindred spirits, my nephew and I. I sat down with Evan in my lap, watching fat, hot tears spill down his cheeks, his breath hitching as he wound up for another wail, and started to cry with him. I wanted a nap, too.

Mom says Thanksgiving is about family. I guess she’s right.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

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Did you visit The Storyside this week? Here's what you might have missed:
Fabulous Free Fiction: "Good Guy Standing in the Rain" by David Daniel
Author memories: "Author Flubs: What Not to Do" with Vlad V., Rob Smales, David Daniel, and me