2022

My expectations are low.

No, don’t jump to any conclusions, I’m not being Debbie Downer, I’m not being negative or anything of the sort. I just think we expect too much from a new year.

The anticipation builds as the days of December go by, one after the other after the other. All we can think about (hope for) is how much better the next year will be. Should be. Must be. Will surely be. We keep telling ourselves and everyone we talk to that “next year will be better.” We really believe it. We console ourselves with it and look forward to the ball dropping at midnight like an addict looks forward to more drugs. It makes the crap we’re going through bearable.

Happy New Year …

2018. What a year it was.

I can’t say I’m sorry to see it go. An annus horribilis if ever there was one. But it’s over now and this is a new day and a new year and a fresh start. And can the world ever use it!

Oprah said it best: “Cheers to a new year and another chance for us to get it right.” Amen to that.

On a positive note …

Whew! We survived 2017 and that’s all I’ll say about that. We’re being positive, right? So Happy New Year to you, to us, to all those we hold dear.

When I was thinking about what I’d write today, I remembered something my mother used to say (and do) every time I moved into a new house or apartment.

“Fransi,” she’d say, “remember to bring a piece of bread, some salt, some sugar and a new broom with you the first time you go in. And make sure you enter with your right foot first.” It wasn’t enough she’d

A creature of habit no more …

To some degree I think we all fall into patterns.  You know, keep doing the same thing, the same way, day after day, week after week, month after month, even year after year.  I don’t think we’re always even aware of it.  It just becomes part of who we are.  Part of our routine.

For example, I do the same thing every morning.  I take my shower first, then wash my face and then brush my teeth.  I’ve been performing these tasks, in this order, for as long as I can remember.  I feed my cats first, then I have breakfast.  Then I clean

Inspiration for a new year …

I’m reading a wonderful book, thanks to my blogging buddy, Claire, at Word by Word.  It’s called The Hidden Lamp and it’s comprised of “stories from twenty-five centuries of awakened women.”  I’ve had it for a couple of weeks, but only really started to read it seriously last night.  And am I glad I did.

No sooner did I start the first chapter, than I was greeted by this poem, by Rabindranath Tagore:

“I slept and dreamt that life was joy.

I awoke and found that life was duty.

I acted and behold, duty was joy.”

Magnificent, yes??  And oh-so-inspiring.  At least I think so.

The author of the particular story, the first in the book, tells of how she came across the poem and what it meant to her.  She said:  “They captured a

Day 148. Right Foot

It’s here.  After all the anticipating.  Reflecting.  And reviewing.  After all the planning.  Promising.  Goal-setting.  Resolving.  After all the partying.  Crazy hats.  Noise-making.  Party favours.  Popping corks.  Dancing.  Dining.  Drinking.  Kissing.

After the countdowns.  Clock-watching.  Drum rolls.  Crowds.  Couples.  Tourists.  Revellers.  After all the singing.  Cheering.  Clapping.  Shouting.  Texting.  And calling.

After all the champagne’s gone.  The tabs settled.  The whistles discarded.  The aspirins taken.  The make-up removed.  The shoes kicked off.  The clothes dropped on the floor.  The beds turned down.  And occupied.  The pillows pounded.  The lights off.

After the morning after.  The hangovers.  The headaches.  The red eyes.  The sore throats.  The upset stomachs.  The moans.  The groans.  The recriminations.

It’s here.  2013.  

Day 143. Love, Actually

Nope.  Don’t go jumping to any conclusions.  This has nothing to do with either Hugh Grant or the movie (in which he appeared) of the same name.  We’re just days away from a brand new year, and I’ve been reflecting, that’s all.

Thinking about 2012, and how it’s been.  Not the ‘world’ view.  How it’s been for me.  What I accomplished.  What remains undone.  People I’ve met.  Friends I’ve lost.  Frustrations.  Disappointments.  Victories.  Where to go from ‘here’.

That took me to ‘blessings’ I should be counting.  Not that much of a stretch, really.  Which, in turn, led me to ‘favourites’.  Favourite moments, favourite experiences, favourite lessons learned.  Favourite ‘things’.  Songs, films, food, shoes, etcetera etcetera etcetera.

Again, not a stretch.

Next thing I knew I was back at Ogilvy, remembering two of my favourite television commercials.  One was for American Express, the other for Jaguar.  Wrong,