Just chuck-it!

Well, here we are again ... the end of another year.  Time to let it go, right?

Have y'all plans to celebrate tonight?  Or, like us, will this evening find you struggling to stay awake?

It doesn't seem so long ago, New Years Eve was an excuse to don formal wear and sip a glass of cheap bubbly.  

More meaningful, those years in Florida when we'd attend our church's Burning Bowl service.   (Some may remember, I've written about this before.)

Two candles are lit -- one representing the old year, the other the New Year.  Everyone's given a piece of paper on which we wrote whatever it is we want to release.  (A cautionary: "No names, please.  God's not a hit man.")

After a time of prayer, each row in turn comes up, touches their paper to the light and inwardly repeats, "I release you; I let you go."  The paper is then placed in the burning bowl. 

I never thought about that before, but our pastor explained, it's a universal sort of thing.  Fire is frequently used at the beginning of a new year for cleaning and transforming ... a way of convincing our consciousness that we have let it go.

I'm loathe to set anything on fire in this!
... but I still love using it.

Not so lofty, but I'm more inclined to identify with the (unknown) gentleman who wrote of things he wants to let go of:

"Anything that drags me down or holds me back.  People I never want to meet.  Activities I detest."

.... and my personal favorite:  "Places and experiences that peg my Ick-o-Meter."

For instance?

I've no idea why certain pastel clothes hangers make me shutter -- isn't that silly?  Nevertheless, it's time that their mint green selves go away. 

My collection of short socks.  I love their cute patterns and bold colors, but I want to trade up for more fabric that disguises my ghastly white legs.

See what I mean?

Of course, there's more --

The outfit which, while a "smoking deal", makes me look and feel Dreadful.

The hamper full of tattered scrapbooks containing faces of those I used to love -- now departed -- either to death ... or circumstance.  Their images will mean nothing to my son and only make me sad when I dare to visit.  

It's time. 

No, I've not forgotten about "my" Word for 2026.
In fact, I'll write about that soon.

Spoiler alert:  It's not just One Word.

Happy New Year!

Hugs, Myra