Time and Tide

I can see part of the fireworks that are set off downtown at midnight if I stand on my bathtub, the brave ones participating in the outdoor festivities better bundle up well, subzero wind chills predicted! Today I pranced around grocery town, grabbing this and thats and a deal of buy one get one bag o' oranges. Eight pounds of oranges. Years ago, I could catch an orange on the back of my neck, tip my head down to roll the thing to the front of my head and launch it back into a three ball cascade with a flip. The good old days.

I practiced to Elton John's Love Lies Bleeding, which has a nice intro beat to do several small tricks before breaking into variations on a three ball routine. I'd end by catching two of the balls down the front of a tucked in blouse so that they looked like old lady bazooms, and yell, "Here comes Grandma!" or some such. Old Lady: "I found a lump in my breast the other day but it turned out to be my belt buckle." Ba Doomp.

That may be a resolution, right there, relearning juggling routines. I was on the brink of getting to do an underhand pass when other things got in the way, like college and gravity. Good to the last drop. Practice over a couch, you don't have to bend down so far for retrieval.

Ah, tis the time for reflection upon the past year and resolve to move forward in this new one, which we do anyways everyday. The name January comes from the Roman two-faced god Janus, who was in charge of beginnings and endings, doorways and halls; this is also where the word 'janitor' originated. See? You never know what you will find here.

Last year contained too many breath-holding moments for my taste as far as deadlines and extensions. No great calamities, no exquisite triumphs. Hm. Just life. Really, what more could I ask for? What more does anyone want? Just keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Tell you what, though, besides juggling, I would like to 1) well, you already know about knitting a pair of real socks. Not fake lumpy socks that turn into mini blind dusters, but true to fit socks. 2) Walk and take pictures of cement. I really like the types of cement used in city sidewalks, there's a brown type, a sort with larger pebbles, a kind with tiny screw shells mixed in, sheets of slate and a few red sandstone. I like the cement markers, too. 3) Give something up, and I think it will be the plants. They add oxygen but are neglected. Even the orchids, which bloom like clockwork, should go. It's too much to care for and that would open space and time for 4) More art. I haven't ever posted any drawings that I do, all anyone has seen are the poor Nomi mannikens that are still a work in progress.

That's enough of fun stuff, the deeper, personal, oh my god not that category will be on paper and tucked in a drawer where I check in from time to time to see how I'm doing. I throw a few Dove chocolate squares in there too, so when I feel I've let myself or others down, there's always food. Dove also writes little "Promises messages" inside the wrappers, specifically designed for sensitive people looking for love.

Today's message was "Joy to...you." The three little dots indicate a pause where you might think "the world" but No, it was "...you." Doesn't that make you feel better? That the Mars company who makes Dove wants you to know they care? It's my little secret, I smile and knowingly nod as I crumple the wrapper into my pocket with the twelve other little wrappers. This thought keeps me warm throughout the investigative hearings into last year's income tax return, if I submitted one. I'll remember that, really, joy to me. My moment. My Dove. My chocolate. Try to take it away from me and you lose your arm up to your elbow.

Maybe I'll send a few down to the jerk below, his attitude could use a few carbs.

They used to sound the church bells at midnight, many years ago. There was a factory whistle that would sing out also, someone had to be there to ring the bells or flip the switch. Maybe it was more important then, this marking of time, of events; or perhaps the night crews wanted to participate in their own way. It was a lonely sound, coming across the clear cold night and yet hopeful, a blessing, a reaching out.

My Mom and I would stay up and she would open the back door so we could hear the various factory whistles, it was a cacophany at midnight in this then blue collar town. Happy New Year we would say, and hope for better times.

I will listen for you at midnight, call out your name and I will hear it. Happy New Year, happy new year.