I find at the New Year that many make well-meaning resolutions but routine becomes the norm and resolutions fall to the wayside of good intentions. Even with my chances for failure I will give my resolutions. For Thursday, our first day of 2015 I promise to do a few things. The first will be to have a drink. To toast, and give thanks for squeaking through another year. I will give thanks for the promise of what a New Year represents. It is a chance for renewal, of faith and hope, the promise that once again we are allowed to dream big and to have the opportunity to make it happen. Don’t try, do. The next thing I promise to do for the New Year is to sleep in on Thursday. My idea of sleeping in is six am and I love to sleep. I will continue this rocking ability to keep my promises through 2015 by eating in moderation…cookies of all variety included, exercising if, and only if, I find time. I will liberally curse at traffic and enjoy it. I will move South and curse at the heat. I will make new friends, concrete my relationships with old friends. I will write and I will share. I will love with renewed passion and try to avoid being homesick. I ask you to do the same. Love your friends and family, do everything big and with renewed passion. Happy New Year, my friends. Enjoy the next 365 days.
My day-job boss asked my coworkers and me the other day about family traditions at the holidays and as I began to speak I realized I had nothing to add to our discussion. Family traditions, things we do every year at the holidays that are to be passed down through generations was something I just couldn’t put into words. I grew up in a small town in Vermont, surrounded by family so it wasn’t a matter of not having family to provide traditions. Rather, it felt too personal to share. My fondest memories of the holiday still remain the silence after a snow storm one Christmas, the only sound was that of my boots crunching through the snow as we walked across town to visit my grandparents. The warmth of their home when we entered, the overwhelming smell of blueberry muffins that I will always associate with my grandmother’s home. Traditions become memories, and are forgotten when grandparents pass, siblings and parents and close friends move far away. Everyone leading separate, busy lives, not coming together for the holidays which at one time had been so closely knit together by my grandmother. It was her home, her warmth, her blueberry muffins that drew everyone in with unconditional love. The stockings were truly hung with care, presents seemingly twinkled beneath the dancing lights of the Christmas tree. Baking and cleaning for guests, family and friends who came from near and far. Time passes too quickly and traditions are lost by distance. This year I have promised myself a resurrection of sorts, the revitalization of family traditions. My parents have come for a visit, albeit quick, it was memorable and enjoyable and I feel blessed having them close. The baking has begun with the creation of Rice Krispy squares. Sugar cookies from scratch are next. Baby steps. The house has been cleaned, the stockings pulled from boxes in the garage. Family traditions are not forgotten, they were just set aside for a while but now they’re back, and I have only just remembered how much I missed them.
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AuthorKatherine is an emerging author with several titles to her name. She writes erotic romance novels including historical and contemporary stories. CategoriesArchives
September 2015
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