Hello friends!
I've no good excuse for failing to blog last week. While there were no "whoopie" moments, thankfully there were no real lows.
..... unless you want to count the rotten head cold that found me Christmas morning. Yep. In a misguided -- and unsuccessful -- attempt to find eggnog, I'd gone out in the (feels like) arctic night before without so much as a scarf.
Thankfully, by yesterday I felt well enough in time for Pastor Janet and another couple to join us for coffee and sweets.
Where's Grandma Adele's candy, you ask?
Ha!
In spite of purchasing a fancy candy thermometer and following my mother's recipe to the letter, it was "Once! Twice! ... You're Out!
Suppose I can always turn this into a planter.
We were so busy yakking, I forgot to take any more pictures.
But trust me, there were smiles all about.
Even Tom -- who finally met with a pain management specialist Thursday and got a spinal steroid injection. (Cross fingers this takes!)
Presuming we'll still be awake, midnight will likely find me looking U-KLY in fat socks and an electric throw blanket ... not caring who's on Dick Clark's Rocking whatever.
Perhaps more so than any other major holiday, New Years Eve ushers in a wave of nostalgia (that) I normally keep at bay the rest of the year.
Maybe someone else can relate? I love to hear your stories!
The Roaring Twenties ...
We ladies of Beta Sigma Phi would have had our hair 'done' -- ratted to the nines. (Thank goodness no photographic evidence exists!)
Clad in formal wear, husbands and wives gathered at the civic center to consume adult beverages and dance to a live band.
One time, on the spur of the moment we asked baby-sitters to spend the night, changed out of our gowns, piled in someone's panel van and drove to Fort Worth to attend the Cotton Bowl. Seated on those concrete tiers in the freezing sleet probably qualifies as my top "never again" moment in time.
It was the Best of Times ...
My 30's. Most NYE's were spent in the kitchen prepping (what seemed like) hundreds of my hubby's famous cabbage rolls for the next day's Open House.
Fast forward ...
Years later. The only other memorable Eve found Myra throwing a major Pity Party for herself. Silly me still believed no-one should have to spend New Year's Eve alone.
The fellow I was seeing at the time -- a cruise ship officer -- was mandated to be on the bridge at the stroke of Midnight.
Just in case. No-one knew what to expect.
Remember Y2K?
We chuckle now, but there was so much unknown.
We filled our car's gas tanks and stood in line at the ATM.
Obviously, today I'm much older. (Not so wiser, but I try!)
I've an abundance of aspirations. Expectations, too.
But I don't want to set myself up for failure.
I'll leave you with a quote I favor:
"There are years that ask questions, and years that answer."
(Zora Neale Hurston)
Dear friends, I pray 2023 will amaze and delight you with her answers.
Cheers!
Myra
