Happy New Year Dear Ones!

From my neighbor’s kitty litter box, I can see the whole of the last year at the Land of Lost Plots laid out below me like the map of the Hundred Acres Wood in the House at Pooh Corner. She and her sons have gone away to visit family and I am in charge of mail retrieval and turd dispersal in her absence. In with the wanted, out with the shit—it’s good practice for welcoming a New Year.

It’s quite something to view from a new vantage what often feels too familiar to be seen. I gaze down on what looks somewhat like a miniature medieval village: There are the ruins of the decrepit blueberry cathedral, listing leeward, full of blueberry bushes irregularly pruned by marauding sheep who ignore the “closed to visitors” fencing like tourists at a National Park site. I close my eyes and remember the taste of those berries, dancing in purple stilettos on my tongue, as I ate them, hot and ripe, with a hazy slice of July dawn. There are the gnarled old peach trees where in August the baby bulls and I tasted for the first time a sweetness that made our eyes roll back in our heads. There is the ancient apple tree where Sport, our beloved curmudgeon was laid to rest during one of the endless summer rains. It was as if the sky was crying too. There is the grand circle of Hemlock logs stacked by young men into what looks more like Nordic Art than firewood. There are old stumps, still waiting to be split. There is the patch of pear trees that yielded five varieties of brown and green and golden fruit, which were shared out with friends and came back to me as intoxicating slivers of pure heaven from a friend’s dehydrator in September. There is the barn, the path, the mud, the snow… and beneath the snow is the Autumn grass I lay in to watch the stars and listen to the last vibratos of the cricket choir. Beyond the house, I can see the claw foot tub, now filled with snow, where I often sat deep in hot thoughts, in a soap-bubble world.

I realize, as I gaze down and back from my neighbor’s window, that what I remember most are these round little moments—moments where the full Sweetness of life bore down on me and I had the sense and Grace to feel or taste it fully. These moments had very little to do with anything linear, with lists, with rushing, or ambitious goals and speeding deadlines (most of which passed me by). A lot of things I thought I had to do got supplanted by surprises I could never have imagined.

Right now, I am still celebrating what I am calling “The Twelve Days of Omicron”—twelve rapid tests, eleven cancelled plans, 10 friends a-coughing, 9 super-spreaders….all the way down to One lone Baker Baking... My attempts to create one of those charming fantasy family holidays at what my children call “Our Christmas House,” have been scuppered on a daily basis by those who either get Covid or get scared. I had the garland up, the tree trimmed, the presents wrapped, and all the traditional ethnic delicacies prepared, only to spend many days home alone, eating whole batches of cookies by myself. It was marvelous! I might cancel Christmas every year and do this instead! I really got “into myself” and, as a result, wound up with so much more of me to love!

New Year’s has come too soon…

“The Party is OVER,” says Prudence.

This is Prudence’s favorite time of year. She is totally fed up with all the squalor in both my head and parlor. She can’t wait to declutter and detox. She has an extensive list of punishments disguised as “Resolutions” designed to fix all that is broken, bad, or lacking in my moral fiber and my bank account. She is convinced that if I just “try a little harder” this time, this time I will see results. She is ready with a list of all-and-nothing routines to create New Habits immediately: No more clutter or procrastination or sugar. Ever. Never. We will save every damn penny and never again succumb to hand-woven antique linens on eBay.

“We’re going to hit the ground running,” she announces shrilly. I slump.

“But I want to hit the ground resting,” I whimper. “When do we get that Long Winter’s Nap? I’m worn out from consuming all that sugar, fear, and grief. I’ll settle for even a medium-sized nap!”

“Rubbish!” she snaps. “We’ve got to do something about all this rubbish. It’s time for the sheep to eat the Christmas tree so we can get on with the new Austerity Measures in a house devoid of dead shrubbery.”

“But what if I want to spend the next year lounging in my new sheep pajamas (thanks Rabbit!) doing that online course ‘Writing to Uncover Your Authentic Self?’”

“Absolutely Not,” she insists crisply. “We’ve already seen enough of your authentic self to know that uncovering more of it won’t do any good. We’ve got to attack that menopausal belly fat, stretch your crinkled up fascia, and do something about that desiccated mass of candy-floss you call hair. No… we don’t need more of your authentic slacking or fondness for bean burritos. So get up! You need to learn twelve fiddle tunes a month, sound like an angel on the harp, do high-impact aerobics daily, run a marathon by June, and subsist only on high-energy locally grown vegan foods, all while simultaneously improving the strength of your pelvic floor!”

“But what about slowing down, living simply, listening to the sheep, cuddling the cows, and finding holistic ways to reduce overwhelm and stress??”

“You live in Vermont,” she retorts. “That’s close enough.”

“But what if I want to embrace this totally arbitrary “fresh start” as a chance to go on a transformational Journey to explore peace and confidence; to honor, replenish and share my gifts; to be a better friend or neighbor to my fellow travelers?”

“Enough of your buts. You need to get off of your buts. I wish I could sign you up for a top-selling course on high-impact excellence but you’ve already squandered our discretionary income on artisanal crockery and yarn. As if you needed more yarn!”

I’m tempted to do something rash, like run outside and roll naked in the snow, just to watch Prudence pass out so she will leave me alone. I want this New Year to unfold in all the magical, wonderful, challenging, inspiring and unexpected ways that every year, every journey, every relationship and every Love unfolds. A New Year isn’t something one can set a course for in a day. Only by making constant, micro-adjustments with every single stitch, is it possible to sew a straight seam. Life takes constant adjusting and recalibrating. A year is round. The world is round and so are its people (especially after all the holiday ethnic delicacies). Too much over-straightening just leads us off course.

So I’m setting a course for Today only. Where can we go if we are led by Curiosity and Wonder? What can we mend, if we are thoughtful, kind, and tender? What calls us to do or be or taste or smell or feel Goodness? What would we most like to experience next? How do we honor with action and Gratitude, this amazing and mysterious Unfolding called Life, which is ever yet just beginning?

Wishing you every blessing of Health and Harmony in 2022, I love you Sew Much!

Yours aye,

Nancy