An Old Year

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This week I can finally feel the year getting old. I don’t know why that feeling has eluded me for so long. After all, it’s December. I put the Christmas stuff up already, and by next weekend the season is upon us with a vengeance.

Perhaps it is because it’s finally getting to be sweater weather in California. This is the first week in as long as I can remember that we got four straight days of rain. I got a little Fall in Maine, but I mostly felt like I went from summer to fake-Fall-land and then back to summer again. It is so easy to believe that Maine is a place outside of the world, because I fly in and I fly out and neither life touches the other, except when it does.

This morning, I drove to work in the rain, wipers swishing. Last night, it got cold in the house, and somewhere in the depths of night, and the kitten burrowed under the covers and snuggled up to me. I slept badly, afraid that I would forget she was there, turn over, and crush my favorite fluffy pincushion. But it was cold out. And the other cats won’t let her snuggle yet (maybe never). I didn’t have the heart to move her.

It could also be the time change and those dark evenings, or the fact that Trader Joe’s has started stocking eggnog, spiced cookies, candied sweet potatoes, and real evergreen wreaths.

But whatever it is, I’m glad to see 2014 go. It was a weird year, full of high highs and low lows. The year started with me finding out I was losing my job, but somewhere in the middle we bought the house. Now the year is mostly full of hard work; between sprucing up the yard, work itself, and the huge writing push I’m forcing on myself. I’ve taken on Ukulele Christmas Carols and some crocheting of Christmas presents as well. I’ll never get it all done, but it’s fun to see what lands completed in the bits of time that I can steal. Often it’s not what I think it will be.

And then we are on to a year with no mistakes in it yet.

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