2018 has been a year of preparation—for 2019 when I join the ranks of the old-old (although that doesn’t officially happen until I cannot make it up Black Mountain). However it is year’s end and here I am—still unprepared. I’ve tried. I have really tried. Climbing up and down the side of that schooner in heavy gear and walking the 10K in the Duke City Marathon. Allotting the reading of history as much time as the streaming of high drama of the international murder mystery variety. Trying for less caustic crankiness and more kindly objectivity in all things human (but then I remember Sleazy T. is still in the white house and all attempts at calm dignity go out the window). These are a few of my endeavors to maintain some degree of physical and mental health and to present myself in such a way that the grandchildren will think of me as a sweet little old creature worthy of occasional visits to the ‘home.’
2018 is limping to a close: the adverb limping was carefully selected—the country is limping from its Sleazy T. wounds and I’m limping from old bones, old muscles, old everything… but enough with the whining…
On the other hand, 2018 has actually been brilliant in many of its ways.
Our already practically-perfect family has a lively new addition—Ashley, the soon-to-be-bride of grandson Steven. That must make us just a whisper away from absolutely perfect. Actually only the family dogs are perfect but the rest of us keep trying.
We are all healthy—a creak here, a twitch there and that’s about all.
In 2018 I had six weeks of what was possibly the best trip ever—time in my blood ‘homes’ of Norway and Sweden. I traveled the length and breadth of the beautiful sensible comfortable safe Democratic-Socialist country of Norway, from the northernmost city, Longyearbyen— far above the Arctic Circle in Svalbard, to the southern point at Lindesnes. I crossed the Swedish border near Roros to meet cousins on my maternal grandmother’s side of the family for the first time. Last but certainly not least I visited with cousins and friends I’ve come to know and love in Stavanger, Kristiansand, Byglandsfjord, and Oslo. How could it possibly get any better than that?
About 2019. About writing. About family. About travel. About ageing.
Here’s my short note about that first difficult topic—Writing. It’s a short note because 2018 was a deeply darkly unsuccessful writing year. I have my resolutions for 2019 however. Eliminate enough extracurricular activities so Saturdays and Sundays are always dedicated to writing The Book. Yeah, that book—which I haven’t given up on but if I am going to move beyond the quarter or so already written it must happen this year, at least a full first draft. A serious scary, almost impossible to meet, goal. More about The Book at the beginning of January.
More that is if I decide to continue blogging. Which will require some ‘fixing’ time before the end of the year and dedicated evenings during the year.
One should never say too much about New Year’s resolutions—too many words jinx the effort. For the short time remaining of 2018, how about travel as the topic, with lots of family photos over the holidays, and ending the year on the high note of age.