Struggling to stay awake as I write after two days of eating and hiking, the former definitely to excess and the latter arguably beyond the behavior of rational humanity.
In fairness -- as is the rule at Barbara Cook and John Kittridge's house, we celebrated the arrival of the first midnight of the New Year somewhere between the Cape Verde Islands and Rio de Janiero -- about 8:30 pm ET. and found our beds by 10 pm. Very sober (umm, well ...) and rational.
To keep up appearances, though, we rose at 5, drove to and scrambled up a hill (Sugarloaf Mountain) to welcome the first sunrise with poetry and prayer, and then hiked a bit further before returning to shower and head off to another potluck event. Urp.
A positive note -- one guest at the first party brought wheat tortillas from Tucson! They were greatly appreciated.
Another positive note -- this poem by May Sarton, published in Garrison Keillor's Writers Almanac. A teaser:
Let us step outside for a moment
Among ocean, clouds, a white field,
Islands floating in the distance.
They have always been there.
But we have not been there.
Happy New Year, everyone! For me, it may be a year of doing familiar things on new roads -- protecting the Constitution against all enemies (especially domestic), and hiking a few hundred more miles of the AT to ease the emotions that come with nonviolent intervention in such matters.
And then, possibly, one thing I may do only once in my life; I plan to visit Carbondale, Illinois, on August 21. There's something special going on there, hotel rooms are already almost booked out.
One never knows, though. We can make our plans, but we also must live each day as we greet it.
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