Eden Greene

Growing up, New Year’s meant being in bed before midnight and awake before 8:00 a.m. to watch jets fly over my house. One year my family and I drove to Colorado Boulevard and sat on the bleachers, watching the floats, horses and marching bands go by while the day was still fresh and cold.
Now, New Year’s Eve means watching the ball drop in Times Square on TV and waiting out Pacific Standard Time’s next three hours. New Year’s Day is waking up to the jets rattling my windows, watching the Rose Parade on TV and counting how many more of these Pasadena New Year’s I have left. This year, we drove to the end of the parade route, trying to catch a glimpse of the floats before they disappeared. As they receded into the distance, all I could see was the post-parade detritus, bits of trash and confetti strewn over the streets and sidewalks and borne aloft by the wind.
My comic tells that story, exploring the complex blend of joy and melancholy surrounding the celebration of this Pasadena-specific tradition I now feel as a teenager. While the magic of the day remains, it becomes more nostalgic as the years pass, at once an anticipated celebration and a marker of time’s passage.