Here we are, once again, at the brink of a new year. Though this blog won’t “go live” until tomorrow, January 1st, I am writing on New Year’s Eve. That’s because I don’t seem to have the energy to move out of the desk chair I am sitting in. Surrounded by a hundred other things that I should be doing, this has, at least, the semblance of productivity.
On the morning I was scheduled to leave my sister’s house in lower Michigan, I had a bit of a scratchy throat. I thought nothing of it as I stripped the bed, packed up clothes, gifts and other acquisitions. It didn’t stop me from a lovely lunch with my daughter and granddaughter, or from an enjoyable wander through an antique shop afterward.
By the time all the “good-byes” were said, though, and I was on the freeway headed north, my symptoms had increased. I had a miserable headache, a painful cough and a seriously sore throat. My ears ached. I was too hot, then too cold, and had occasional wild bouts of sneezing. No denying it, I had caught a cold.
I arrived late, driving in the dark and through freezing rain, to the small town where I was meeting my friend Donna for an overnight visit. She greeted me warmly, welcomed me into her charming home, and did her best to make me comfortable. I’m afraid I was not the best company.
The next day, I set off on the second half of my trip, which ended with a plane ride back home to Beaver Island. I could have cried with relief – and kissed the young man who’d retrieved it – when I saw that my car had already been brought from the back lot, and was right there waiting for me. With help, I loaded it with all my belongings, and headed down the road to pick up the dogs.
With Rosa Parks and Darla sharing the front seat with me, we pulled in to my own driveway after more than a week away. I unloaded the car while the dogs sniffed around to determine what wildlife had visited while we were gone. I shoved boxes, bags, totes and suitcases unceremoniously into the house before collapsing into bed. Two days later, they are still there.
I have barely begun unpacking. I still feel miserable. This, at the time when the calendar tells me I should be making my usual big plans for a fresh start. I have a new sketchbook, which begs a new commitment to daily drawing. I have a brand new bullet journal to set up for 2019. I have plans, of course, as always, for a new start on diet and exercise. My enthusiasm is absent. I have no energy for any of it.
And that, I am thinking, may be the biggest change that is happening in this new year. This may be the first time in my life when I simply let one year end and another begin. I think it’s going to happen, too! Even without my big agenda, and my active participation in it. Even as I sit here, coughing and sniffling, one year ends and another begins. Let’s just see how it goes.
Happy New Year!