by cheri block sabraw
I looked in the magnifying mirror yesterday. In my eyes, I detected an alertness that made me wonder if such spirit portended fear and survival or curiosity and wonder. Though I would like to believe the latter, I suspect that along with my usual ebullient approach to the life experience, the former has lodged there too.
New Year’s Eve and Day have always been holidays that I anticipated with fun, optimism, and a strong sense of the future. I suppose, as with so much that animates me, my feelings about the New Year holiday began as a child. We spent them all at Lake Tahoe, skiing, sledding, ice skating, and throwing snowballs. My father Hugh made raging stimulating fires in the stalwart fireplace; my mother Joan made blueberry pancakes for breakfast, chicken soup for lunch, and homemade lasagna for dinner. What more could a child desire? My three younger siblings, Stevie, Cindy, and Jimmie tumbled (or maybe were pushed) out the door and into a snow drift. Icicles, like icy daggers, hung from our cabin roof. Occasionally, they would break off and we snow buccaneers would find our swords.
On New Year’s Day, we watched football all day. The Sugar Bowl, the Rose Bowl, and the Orange Bowl beamed in from KOLO TV in Reno. Full of too much football, as a teenage girl, I would don my tight pink ski apparel, put on my clunky white ski boots, and crunch down to the lodge to see and to be seen, hot chocolate included.
My mother insisted we analyze our previous year and commit to resolutions.
And so today, as I bid 2016 adieu and welcome 2017 here in the Arizona desert and far away from my childhood Tahoe memories, I take stock of my many blessings and continue to strive for personal improvement.
By writing these resolutions and blowing them into the atmosphere, they become real, unlike those resolutions that we tuck inside our secret selves.
I want to improve my posture this year, push more weight, walk every day, and write that book whose plot and characters still allude me.
I hope to find a part-time job this summer, paint every week, and maintain my blog regularly.
Maybe a volunteer opportunity, in which I am not committed to regular weekly hours, will materialize before my alert eyes.