If I lived in a small peasant village thousands of years ago where it was customary to dance naked in the fields on New Year’s Eve to ensure a good growing season, I would be the first to drop his fur britches and start cavorting through the stubble corn.
Which is to say I like ritual. I like the statues of the saints in church. I like Christmas trees and the Rosary. I like an omelet every Sunday morning. I’d have been a good 12th-century monk.
Every New Year’s Eve, my wife and I attend a party in a local saloon. There’s a buffet and music. It’s a small bar, and the owner limits attendance to...
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