This week I survived another twelve months of my life and have found myself at the beginning of a new set of them. This exact time last year, my father had just moved into my house so that I and hospice could look after him better. Less than a month later, hospice was here around the clock. And then Dad was gone. I miss his advice and humor. He had loads of both. Sometimes I feel like a complete idiot, but THOMY (the husband of my youth) says I'm doing fine. That I've probably even matured. Goodness, it's about time.
This year, I've been glad that my birthday falls close to New Year's Day; the first three weeks of the year has been a deferment on setting down a few resolutions well after the whirlwind of winter holidays.
But before I get into all that, I got to do a few of my favorite things on my birthday:
Lunch at a local tea room (the food hasn't been served yet):
My own stop-and-smell-the-roses photo at aforementioned tea room, à la The Noticing Project:
Dark chocolate is good for you. Being more healthful is one of my resolutions. Strawberries in winter are a forgivable sin, seeing as how they're dehydrated, and dehydrated sins don't count.
Did I say more healthful? Well, tomorrow is another day...
1. Settle on a blogland term of endearment for my husband. (DONE. THOMY: the husband of my youth. I've called him this for years already in cards and notes, even when I could still claim to be youthful.)
2. Knit THOMY a sweater. (IN PROCESS. It's the Cobblestone pattern, see the previous post.)
3. Quilt Lumberjack Butterflies.
4. Dad's house: Finish renovations and place it on the market.
5. At every meal, except on Fridays, have more vegetables/fruit than meat and carbs on the plate. Why not Fridays, too? Cuz.
6. And, for crying out loud, finish reading at least 4 books that I've already begun, one per season.
7. Place one handmade thing for sale each month on etsy.
8. Make and send my PIF gifts.
9. Walk or ride bike each week day, unless I'm sick.
What? Not a good, round 10 resolutions? Well, yes, I have a tenth one, but it is private. Like a wish blown across candles.