“My, isn’t that pretty! What are we celebrating?” “It’s the New Year, Mom.” “Really? What year is it?” “It’s the year 2000. It’s the new millennium.” “No!” her mother would exclaim, slapping her knees and falling back against the couch. “My goodness. Imagine that.” And then she would close her eyes and doze off again until the next burst of fireworks woke her, and she would sit up and lean forward. “My, isn’t that pretty! What are we celebrating?”
