Jan. 1 not only brings a new year, it generally brings new year’s resolutions.
My resolution is to be more forgiving where my resolutions are concerned. By the third week in January my new year’s resolutions have all but disappeared.
What is a resolution? Webster’s Dictionary states it is “the act of finding an answer or solution to a conflict, problem, etc. or the act of resolving something.”
In years gone by, I have resolved to lose weight. I weighed more than 9 pounds when I was born, and I never did fit into a size-4 anything. One element that has added to this problem is that I love to bake bread; and there is an unwritten rule that hot, homemade bread has to be eaten with melting butter, right? Actually, I just love to cook from scratch.
There have been other years that I have resolved to clean all my closets, glean and burn receipts that are 15 years old, decide which of my kids’ kindergarten drawings to keep, sort out the clothes I haven’t worn in five years and give them to charity, and neatly color coordinate the clothes I keep.
About an hour into this effort, I find myself reading the cute little cards my kids gave me, griping about how much more costly electricity is now, and keeping the “cute” clothes I wore 20 years ago. Yes, I have clothes that are 20 years old.
I often take time to reflect on how I spend my time, another resolution. This generally happens during one of our winter snowstorms when we are snowed in. I browse through my address book and decide I haven’t called or written some of my old acquaintances and promise myself to make it a regular routine to get in touch during the coming year.