Season’s greetings, salutations one and all,
The Solomons send yule-tide greetings and good cheer.
Join us as we raise a toast to 2020:
Adios to a shitty year.
It started out strong, filled with dazzle and woo-hoo.
Noah admitted to Cornell, Bella to Johns Hopkins U.
Maddie penning pieces at Oxy, loving LA.
Between school, soccer, and basketball, Marina busy all day.
After twenty-five years of freelancing and juggling kid schedules,
Emily hit her stride at Keshet, raising lots of funds and crushing deadlines.
And Coach Jay’s b-ball team played for the City Championship — and won, holy cow!
(Doff your toque and take a bow.)
Looking back, 2020 began with much promise and hope.
All and all, life felt pretty dope.
Copasetic, it turns out, is not really a word.
And 2020, it turns out, was really a turd.
On the horizon, an alarm was sounding.
Something about a virus, much worse than the flu.
A deadly, contagious, one-hundred-year virus.
In the middle of March, on the cusp of spring, when trees turn green,
The sky fell down, the sun blew out, the world turned upside down.
This COVID-19 was a horrible, terrible, disastrous thing.
No celebrations, no graduations, no meeting up with close relations…
Say sayonara to your vacations.
“But we have tickets to Hamilton…!”
No exceptions, no ovations.
Please pass me a stiff libation.
With time on our hands and nowhere to go,
Jay rolled up his sleeves and planted a garden with a rake and a hoe,
Emily hiked the mountains and explored every block of the city (on foot!), joined by her book-club gals turned hiking-club sisters.
Marina baked up a storm, turning out cookies, muffins, and layered cakes galore.
The house smelled like a sweet corner bakeshop,
(This COVID thing had at least one bright spot.)
By mid-July, the Peloton arrived.
We got off our haunches and all took a ride.
And boy did we ride, and ride and ride, ten miles and more, right here inside.
Riding with Robin, Kendal, Ally and Alex Toussiant — riding our hide!
By late summer, a harsh reality began to sink in.
No matter how much wishing, whining or cursing the sky,
This fu*king Pandemic was not going to die.
Bella ‘enrolled’ at Hopkins — Zooming classes from home.
Marina rolled out of bed and turned on her classroom,
(No chatty carpool or lunchroom high jinks — just her phone.)
And Noah and Maddie, they shipped off to college and were tested and tested (swabbed up the nose!)
One day, cleaning out the garage,
Wedged between poles and shovels, old sleds and used skis,
A golf bag tumbled over, spilling out woods, irons, range balls, and tees.
The clubs were ancient, withered, and forlorn.
The bag smelled of a thousand rounds played before you were born.
Jay had a thought. A wondrous, extraordinary, heartwarming thought.
There was a golf course just over the hill, a mile away.
What if we shined up these clubs and polished the balls.
Bella and Marina could swing a bat, kick and dribble, after all.
Surely, they could whack a tiny little ball.
As summer turned to fall, and fall fell to winter,
Days merged with nights and moods turned gray,
Golf became an excuse to go for a walk, to getaway.
The smell of the greens, beneath the bright sun and blue skies,
The view of the Rockies and downtown Denver (walking the fairway, you cannot believe your eyes.)
A tee shot in the woods, a wild chip hits a tree, a 5-putt Par Three?
No matter, all in good fun — and therapeutic, you see.
In the midst of an awful pandemic, this golf thing raised our spirits, a good rally, indeed.
All of which to say, if there was a silver lining…
Okay, nope, let’s not go there. 2020 still sucked, to be fair.
Good riddance, we say! Go on, get out, get out of the way!
Here’s to a brighter, lighter, more delightful new day.
So yes, let’s raise a toast: To 2021, Hip-hip, hooray!