This is what the last morning of 2013 looked like from where I stood. It was white, cold, and just about perfect – considering there was no time left for improving 2013. And that’s about all I have to say about it, a summation that credits 365 days with plenty of opportunity, 12 months – or eight-thousand, seven hundred sixty hours – of effort, about thirty percent of which time I might be found with my mouth open, snoring. For those assuming I sleep 8 hours every night, that worked out to be 7.2 hours of every 24-hour period. But who cares, and who’s counting. Statement of fact: nobody.
I happen to like January. It’s a clean month, usually snowy or rainy, which is all the same to me in winter. It has 31 days, one of the 7 that rule by majority. February is a slacker, never puts in a full shift, but gets away with it by being all lovey. Even though it takes credit for a full month’s work, I’m not fooled. March takes up the slack, a robust and hearty month, full of energy and promise until April stomps on its tail. Everybody takes notice of April, gives its first day as much due as January’s. It’s a month crammed full of birthdays in my family, so no matter what day it is, I’m sure to be missing someone’s. May is rather genteel but June is the real workhorse. It strives to reach its full potential, a tall order I’d not like to be responsible for. From then on, July and August and September just ride the gravy train, looking showy and taking all the glory. Along comes October and we’re giddy with the colors and holidays to come, and before you know it we’re thankful for everything the year has given us. December is the rich kid on the block, gifted and storied and never shunned. Which brings January to the forefront again, the month of new beginnings, fresh starts, clean slates, hope and promise.
I should have named each of my kids January. They could have their own middle names, but January – now that’s a name to be noticed, celebrated. Maybe I’d have named my eldest January March, the middle one January April, and the youngest January June. Who knows what’s in a name, but the correlations certainly seem true enough. Me? I’d be October, and not for any reason other than I never wear orange but I like the color. Go figure.
But here we are, the first day of 2014, and already I have no complaints. The only worthy resolution I can think of is determining to overlook anything that might cause me to complain. Sounds rather daunting looking back on 2013, but I have a feeling it’ll be easier than one would expect. Let’s see how it goes, eh?