As much as I complain (loudly) about all the holiday madness, it may have all been a bit self-inflicted. After all, it was my choice to play Susie Homemaker during my time off. Well I out-Martha'd myself this winter, baking over 200 Christmas cookies who I think my family may have gifted to everyone that they knew. Luckily, I had my cousin and Misha to help decorate them, Siri being sidelined from touching any food as she was sick (her usual coughing). And then, after preparing Christmas Eve desserts and Christmas brunch, I was bushwhacked and all but secluded myself with a load of blankets and a stack of books. Shh! No interruptions, whispered Marian the Librarian, and no exceptions. Silent Night, our household was not over Christmas. Meeting my sister's boyfriend Misha was a bit overshadowed by my mom's visitors, her best friends who were more than thrilled to see her and exclaim at her progress since her operation this summer. I don't think either the wives or husbands stopped chattering for the entire 48-hour period they were visiting. Cabbages and kings, around and around, and thus I retired to my library.
About a thousand (I'm exaggerating, kinda) books later, I've emerged pink and scrubbed clean but brain awash and flooded with dare-I-say too many words and aphorisms. Many suggestions on where to take the year - spiritually, personally, and geographically. It doesn't seem strange at all, now that I've taken the time to think and reflect on it, that I should get my advice for the year from books, my ever faithful and reliable companions. The endless possibilities of the new year, my favourite part.