Wednesday, January 4, 2017


It's 12:27am January 1st, 2017. I stood outside for 20 minutes listening to the firework thunder and echoes of enthusiastic lungs laughing as they shouted into the night. A new year...what exactly does that mean beyond the turning of the calendar, the passing of a date? The air was crisp and pure and smelled of Spring four months away, snow and ice guaranteed to coat the world until then. My heart longs for warmth but is astounded at how quickly this season seems to be passing.

I'm now curled in bed with feet tucked beneath the down comforter, Hazel on the floor at my side, and the boys left gaming in the basement with a 2am curfew - even now their laughter ricochets up through the ancient ductwork and faintly ripples in the air. Jase slumbers beneath the covers (he's fighting an early winter head cold I am fervently hoping he does not share) and the Twilight Zone classic marathon paints my bedroom with wavering black and white shadows.

This year had a different list. Older birthdays and boys learning to drive. A position that has massive promise but that took my husband away for weeks at a time on a regular basis. A book published. Paintings finished. I resigned. These notes on a list look different but the year felt...hard. How does life feel? Does your year spill across your mind in a list like mine does? A series of triumphs and failures, laughter and sorrow? The boys are nearly men and the dog no longer a puppy and I find the lines about my eyes are faintly deeper. I sleep less (who knew three hours could be enough?) and dream vivid dreams that make my husband laugh out loud with their absurdity. 

A new year. A human year. Right now, my bedroom draped in flickers of grey, I am promising myself to feel it. To taste and laugh and cry and rage. The wind rattled my window just now, promising a storm before dawn. I turn off the light and watch the branches dance beneath the stars.

A new list begins.


Robbie Grey said...

I see time as abstract, yet wearing many voodoo masks; a river, a dense jungle, ice, forming and dissipating clouds, the movement of the stars. A blessing/curse is my ability to remember dates and details down to scent in the air and the clothes on my body when things happened, yet I sometimes forget what day it is. There are those who call me contrary and otherwise paradoxical. Curious.

A lot of cats have talked about how the past human-constructed year was hard. I went to Hawaii and acquired things, amongst which is a new level in the discipline adventure and wanderlust. My father died, but then decided to get over it, thus proving the line; it's not death if you refuse it, it is if you accept it. One of my adventuring pals walked on and didn't walk back and a friend of mine lost a spouse of fifty-five years. Good and bad. So it goes. That's balance.

Hopefully your upcoming orbit 'round the sun will be filled with words, art, and adventures of your own. I look forward to, as always, hearing your words on the subject.

Mandy_Fish said...


Mary Degli Esposti said...

If you can write this, but not FEEL IT, I'd be surprised. I think you feel...& can articulate those feelings, with more accuracy than many of us. That can be good/inspiring/motivating/freeing/TRUE, & that can bring more intense sorrow as well.

Absurdity permeates this world, so why not our dreams?

Mary Degli Esposti said...

I'm back. Insight into calculating a year. Everyone's life seems just a little more interesting, a little more possible to see with a touch more depth of feeling after visiting here. Which is why I needed & wanted to come back to read this again...but then, actually, I always do read your entries more than once...either in right-then succession or later or both.

Chantel said...

The downside to only getting sick once every 4-5 years, is that when I do, it's like the Badass of Virosity (just go with me, it's a word). I haven't even touched my computer in a week. I think I ate once. Had some idea of losing a few pounds this year and accomplished that in a single week. Just breathe...

Robbie - "It's not death if you refuse it" damn near became my mantra in the last week. You're right, balance is the equilibrium of the planets; I just need to work a bit more on mine. Memory...what is that? (and I'm enthralled with the idea of forming and dissipating clouds...)

Mandy - Thank you lovely.

Mary - Your words give me hope that my meandering thoughts are not as rag-tattered as they feel. Perhaps there just seems a numbness after the pendulum swings far enough in each direction. Such joy and deep sadness should balance, right? But there are times when I fear I've burned my tongue. It makes one slightly apprehensive of a new menu...and yet, isn't that exactly what every year is? Cheers Mary, may the year ahead be one to savor for us both.

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