With Mr. Rogers-like exuberance, Dave stands and says, “What do we want to do today?!” Then, answering his question says, “Are we doing it?!” My silent look says it all as I continue being treated by Evelyn’s pretend shot for an illness.
It’s a sunny day, full of hope and promise on this eve of the new year. Same as at home, the cabin’s yard is a blanket of browned leaves, with tufts of lime green blades popping through. It’s 48 degrees out, and 70 inside; the cabin’s digital thermometer Christmas gift is alive and well.
I get in my way, a client admitted last week. I wonder, do I do this?
CNN’s Countdown to 2023 is not as entertaining as last year. Flipping through channels, I happily landed on Anderson Cooper and a drunk guy I thought was his husband taking shots and slurring words. At one point, after the guy shit-talked the mayor or other local political figure, I said, “I can’t believe this is on the air.” They’re on again, and unfortunately, they’re sober.
I made hollandaise sauce better this morning than I have in my past ten goes. The key? Whip the egg yolks until super fluffy, then wait to put the melted butter in for several minutes while you stir the eggs over low heat. Now that I’m a master Egg’s Benedicter it should become a New Year’s Eve tradition.
Let’s talk about New Year’s resolutions, precisely the doable kind. I believe my stiff bod needs stretching, so I’ll do daily yoga. By the year’s end, I’m thinking of 20 full-on push-ups (not the girl kind). I’m thinking of trying 50 new things and eating less beef in 2023, plus who knows what else I’ll add?!
Cribbage is how Dave and I are rivetedly bringing in the new year. After I post this, I’m challenging him to a rematch. You know how much I hate losing.
I appreciate you keeping me company on this blog for the past year. It’s been a wild and wonderful ride, and we made it. Cheers!
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 