Frankly I am accustomed to much more rambunctious entries of the first day of January in my life. For many years the explosion of the opening a new bottle of Bourbon would be the signal for making what would be short lived resolutions.
I've had midnight explosions, guns fired into the air, sirens, church bells, furniture thrown out of 7th or 8th floor apartments, midnight pick-up soccer games in the town square, couples changing out of their old clothes and slipping into new duds to start the year off right and a game of chicken outside my bedroom window between two riders of Vespas (Italian motor scooters). This year, see above. Nothing. Nada. Niente. Rien. Awan. Wala. Like a shadow slithering silently across the moonlit snow afraid to be in the way of the Aurora Borealis.
No big deal resolution to be proud of. I am entertaining the idea of promising God to tell the world of my big secret if I get to be 75 years old.
Until then, may God bless you all. Tomorrow we all have to get back to work. Frankly, that's a good problem to have these days.
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