1.01.06
A semi-opaque blanket of lung busting particles left smoked out of last night's fireworks veils the early morning calm, as I wakked through the house to inspect what other remaining traces there are of the year that had just departed. We bade the year goodbye as vigorously and noisily as we could last night. Now, standing out in stunning morning-after silence, are but these slight references to the night before -- a bottle of red wine half consumed, some nut shells strewn around, two heavy crystal ashtrays resurrected from unuse ( and about to be sidelined again until the next party ), some curly confetti popped out of the kiddie noisemakers, footprints by many sets of feet heavily concentrated around the dining table area, my little flower arrangementthat's miraculously fit into the fridge now -- with hardly a longing for all the other things partaken except for the luscious mango torte, with the chewy, caramel/nut wafer crust, so sinful and readily available within arm's length in the freezer. It taunts, surely, with the challenge to set a record breaking time to get the New-Year's-Resolution-breaking over and done with.
A New Year's Day morning is a great time for introspection, and is just as equally heroic as sitting down to breakfast the day before it. The opening meal on the last day of the year, I thought, afforded everyone a breakfast fit for champions, for having winged the whole year and surviving it, which, to many, many people must be an achievement in itself. Yesterday morning I prepared pancakes from scratch, carved out neat slices from the leg of ham, made a lovely omelette with shoestringed potatoes and fresh salsa on the side, all by myself I did, and everyone loved it. This morning I pause with the silence, and feed my soul while everyone else are asleep, with prayers of hope and excitement for the new year, coming into it not heavy laden but wide-eyed and empty handed, and just wanting to take it all in. Yes. Ready for whatever's in store believing that God really tends to apportion more of what makes us happy, than that which breaks our hearts. And what a great thing that is.
Happy New Year.
Filed Under: Seasons
A New Year's Day morning is a great time for introspection, and is just as equally heroic as sitting down to breakfast the day before it. The opening meal on the last day of the year, I thought, afforded everyone a breakfast fit for champions, for having winged the whole year and surviving it, which, to many, many people must be an achievement in itself. Yesterday morning I prepared pancakes from scratch, carved out neat slices from the leg of ham, made a lovely omelette with shoestringed potatoes and fresh salsa on the side, all by myself I did, and everyone loved it. This morning I pause with the silence, and feed my soul while everyone else are asleep, with prayers of hope and excitement for the new year, coming into it not heavy laden but wide-eyed and empty handed, and just wanting to take it all in. Yes. Ready for whatever's in store believing that God really tends to apportion more of what makes us happy, than that which breaks our hearts. And what a great thing that is.
Happy New Year.
Filed Under: Seasons
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