Well, it is a new year, and wonderful one at that. It just might be the most peaceful time in history. (Think about THAT.)
Or, at least, it is somewhere. Here at my house, my daughter has morphed into a koala and she is absolutely certain I am a branch. I haven't been able to peel her off of me for days, this on account of a terrible cold. When I put her down, she loses it completely in a fit of heart-wrenching sobs. This would be fine if I had stronger arm muscles. Luckily, she's changing all that.
I, like many in the civilized universe, made a New Year's resolution. Which I promptly forgot. I think it had something to do with writing more letters. I think letters deserve a come-back, as do horse-drawn carriages. (What better way to stave off global-warming?)
In fact, if I can pick a bone, (and why not, it's my blog that nobody reads, I can write whatever I want and if it's really bad, I can delete later on. Wow. The internet is amazing.), why do people send holiday cards without a personal message of any kind? Now, I love you if you sent me one at all, but not even one little word written in ink? That's like sending a Hallmark card without writing even your NAME in it. We really shouldn't let Hallmark do all the work for us or our loving, writing brains will atrophy.
Perhaps you'll join me in a new year of letter writing. Or, if you like, you can just tell me your new year's resolution with a comment. At least then we will be interacting. I love interacting. It's an improvement on acting in every way.
Now back to my one-armed life (toddler in the other arm). Wish me biceps.