Well, hello there–and Happy Friday!
How’d your week fare?
I sniffled my way through. Which means I’ve been sick roughly 5,000 times within the last year. But all misery aside, I also began to ponder Valentine’s Day shenanigans.
You know, the older I get the more thankful I am this unofficial holiday has remained near and dear to my heart. I’ve my mama to thank for that. She always made it special. In doing so, she made it clear that love, in and of itself, is worthy of celebration.
It’s a point driven home this week as we bid farewell to yet another loved one. After a courageous battle with cancer, our cousin left this world for digs much more glorious. As taps played in all its melancholy splendor, between sniffing and frantically wiping away tears, I thought of his reunions . . . how we were saying goodbye (for now), but he was saying hello once more: to his mom and dad; grandpa Vern; grandma Mae.
For now we see indistinctly, as in a mirror, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I will know fully, as I am fully known. Now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love. (1 Corinthians 13:12&13)
The greatest of these; if anything is deserving of celebration, surely it’s that. So if we have them–family, friends, pets, sweethearts–we most assuredly should love on them.
Here’s hoping you get the party started early in the days ahead . . .
I slept in the spare bedroom last night.
No, we did not partake in our first kerfuffle on the eve of our three-month anniversary. Dustin’s sick. And while I’m a firm believer in toughing it out with the one you love, he mentioned sleeping upstairs might behoove us both: me, so I don’t wake up every time he coughs, flops around, gets up, or despairs, aloud; and him, so he doesn’t feel bad every time he coughs, flops around, gets up, or despairs, aloud.
So, I trudged myself upstairs and settled in to the guestroom.
Once there, I learned a thing or two: one, our spare bed is quite delightful. So we’ll need to make sure and only offer it to those we know will actually leave. And two, sound carries. So no tomfoolery for us whilst said guests are there. I mean, really . . .
In other news: Puxatony Phil saw his shadow. That’s six more weeks of winter. At the very least, I’m hoping cold and flu season calls it early. It’s definitely worn out its welcome.
Needless to say, I hope this finds you well. May the days ahead be filled with rest and relaxation, warmth and comfort–a good downtime, so you can wake up and slay dragons next week . . .
To me, “Resolutions” tends to have the same effect as “diet”–mere mention of the word develops something of a nervous twitch and just like that, I’ve set on a course destined for failure.
Yet, I’m a firm believer in taking inventory: looking back at where you’ve been and looking ahead at where you want to go; offering thanks for how far you’ve come and forgiveness for all the ways you’ve failed; plotting your course and setting your guideposts for the days and months ahead; wiping the dust of one year from your feet and continuing down the road that makes up the next.
In other words, I’m a firm believer in getting up and trying again.
With that, my goals for the year tend to differ ever so slightly from one year to the next. Sure, I need to get this whole wife thing down, but other than that, my goals haven’t changed all that much. You being my witnesses, here’s a sampling of my big plans . . .
Read more. Awhile back Dustin asked if everything but the office had been moved to the new place. Well . . . I wasn’t quite sure how to break it to him that I have about twenty more boxes of books to move over. With that, the goal to “read more” seems absurd. But it’s true! Last year was such a blur, I got out of the habit–and I barely noticed its absence (which is totally out of character). So I need to get back to it. Not only that, but I want to read for friends (hello, book club) and read for me; read to expand my mind and read to turn off my brain for a bit. And while I tend to shy away from annual reading lists, I at least want to make it through the books bought on our honeymoon.
Keep in touch. If there’s one thing we learn as we age, it’s that life is fragile. And we’re oh-so blessed to have family and friends. It would behoove us to let them know. For me, that means more notes, more cards, more letters to those I love most. But first, I’ve got to get those wedding thank-yous done.
Go on an adventure (or two, or three). The where is not as important as the what on this one: see a few new sights; snap a few photos. Relax. Explore. Eat good food; enjoy good conversation. And make grand new memories.
Make music. Pick the violin back up was on my list before I met (and married) a musician. Of all my goals, this is the most disconcerting. I mean really. Who wants to endure the screechy menace that is a rusty strings player? Do stay tuned . . .
Finish a story. I dare not contemplate how long this has been on the list. But I’m nothing if not determined. Also, be it known: I made great strides last year in bidding a regular freelance gig farewell, all because it ate up way too much of my time . . . time I could be using to write my own material. Of course, I then chose to plan a wedding in its stead. All the same, the very fact that I got married stands as proof: anything is possible.
Of course, once we’ve set our sights, the question remains: shall we prevail? No doubt it will be something akin to most years: we’ll win some and we’ll lose some. But win or lose, the important thing is moving forward. And that, my friends, we most certainly can do. Just one foot in front of the other, as long as we’ve breath . . .