This is how I have spent the first day of 2010:
I absorbed the news that a friend is engaged. I was shocked, and couldn’t even feign happiness. I just kept saying, “Holy shit” into a cell phone. I don’t think he caught on.
I refused to pour my son an entire glass of sugary ginger ale with which to toast just after midnight, only to be told that this year is, and I quote, “a rip-off”, as well as “the worst New Year” of his life. All 6 years of it.
I taught my sister the proper way to signal for gay sex in a public bathroom.
She was impressed with my worldliness.
A nameless person passed gas in a manner so ferocious, and at a volume so incredible, a baby was woken from its slumber.
I made brunch for 14, for ten people. There were no leftovers. Not even one slice from the two pounds of bacon in the centre of the table. No one went into cardiac arrest. Yet. Knock on wood.
I admitted that I love funeral food. Nanaimo Bars.
(Image from here.)
Those peanut butter/butterscotch/colored marshmallow squares. Open faced chopped ham sandwiches. Devilled eggs. Not that I want anyone to pass on, so I can eat these things. Maybe I’ll just start having them around, not waiting for a luncheon in a church basement.
I napped with a cranky 3-year-old. Who was warm, and whose weight pinned me down in a way that was sublimely satisfying. My arm fell asleep, and I just willed her to keep sleeping.
I read a hundred pages of this:
and marvelled at the fact that when I read the first book in the series, twelve years ago, I was all about the romance, and now? When I read these books, I’m just overwhelmingly grateful for electricity and indoor plumbing and doctors.
I let the dishes sit.
No, I’m not entirely sure what these things mean for the year ahead. If they’re prophetic, in any way.
But thus begins another year.