January 5: Making Promises, Evie Shockley, "on new year's eve"

It's a strange tradition, making promises to change on January 1st of every year.  I am going to exercise more.  Eat healthier.  Spend more time with my family.  Spend less money.  Quit smoking.  The list is endless, and, of course, by January 2nd, most of those promises have already been broken.

As I've said in previous posts, I gave up on New Year's resolutions a long time ago.  A resolution is simply an opportunity to make yourself feel terrible.

So I usually make promises to myself that I know I will never be able to keep. 

This year, Saint Marty plans to win the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry. 

on new year's eve

by:  Evie Shockley

       we make midnight a maquette of the year:

frostlight glinting off snow to solemnize

       the vows we offer to ourselves in near

silence: the competition shimmerwise

 

       of champagne and chandeliers to attract

laughter and cheers: the glow from the fireplace

       reflecting the burning intra-red pact

between beloveds: we cosset the space

 

       of a fey hour, anxious gods molding our

hoped-for adams with this temporal clay:

       each of us edacious for shining or

rash enough to think sacrifice will stay

 

       this fugacious time: while stillness suspends

vitality in balance, as passions

       struggle with passions for sway, the mind wends

towards what’s to come: a callithump of fashions,

 

       ersatz smiles, crowded days: a bloodless cut

that severs soul from bone: a long aching

       quiet in which we will hear nothing but

the clean crack of our promises breaking.

December 30: Italian Cold Cuts, New Year's Eve Party, Letter of Recommendation, Calvin and Hobbes

Earlier in the day Ives had walked over from the office to Ninth Avenue during lunchtime, to buy boxes of Italian cold cuts and pastries, and these were set out on a table as a buffet...

Ives is buying Italian cold cuts and pastries for his annual Christmas tree decorating party.  Family and friends and children come to his apartment, and, while the adults eat and drink, the kids decorate his Christmas tree.  It's an Ives' family tradition.

This evening, I went shopping with my sister for our annual New Year's Eve party.  We have been having this party at my parents' house since I was a twelve or thirteen.  I sort of started the tradition because I got tired of seeing my parents and older siblings disappearing on December 31st and coming back well after midnight wearing party hats and blowing horns.  I was missing out on something.  So I decided that, if I couldn't go to the party, the party was going to come to me.

It used to be a much bigger shindig, with almost fifteen or so people attending.  But, because of relocation and choice and death, the party tomorrow night will be a much smaller affair.  Seven adults and three kids.  There will be food and games.  At midnight, we will put on hats and blow horns and gather around the piano to sing "Auld Lang Syne."  It will be a good time.

This evening, I had to write a letter of recommendation for a former student of mine.  She is applying to graduate schools, and my recommendation was due on January 1.  I really didn't want to take time out of my New Year's Eve party to write my recommendation, so I did it tonight.  Just submitted it.

Now, I am going to take some Nyquil and go to bed.  Long day.  Long night.  Short time to sleep.

Don't forget to vote in Saint Marty's book poll.

What will next year's book be:

• The Road  by Cormac McCarthy?
• The Color Purple by Alice Walker?
• Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard?
• The World According to Garp by John Irving?

Are you perfect?

March 27: New-Born Resolutions, Cranky Night, Cranky Morning

He looked about in that very place for his own image; but another man stood in his accustomed corner, and though the clock pointed to his usual time of day for being there, he saw no likeness of himself among the multitudes that poured in through the Porch.  It gave him little surprise, however; for he had been revolving in his mind a change of life, and thought and hoped he saw his new-born resolutions carried out in this.

By this point in A Christmas Carol, Scrooge has pretty much decided to change his ways.  However, he hasn't witnessed the terrifying visions of death and despair awaiting him in this stave with the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.  I honestly think that the third spirit was sent to just seal the deal of Scrooge's redemption.  It's fairly difficult to return to business as usual after you have seen your own death chamber and grave.  I know I might change a few things, not the least of which would be my underwear.

I'm sure Scrooge's "new-born resolutions" involve being kinder to Bob, helping out Tiny Tim, maybe attending a few Christmas parties.  He hasn't reached the point of actually being scared shitless for his eternal soul yet.  That will come in a couple pages.  "Resolutions" is such a polite word.  It doesn't bring to mind visions of bodies on deathbeds or rats gnawing walls.  It's more of a New Year's thing:  Scrooge vows to lose ten pounds by the summer.  That kind of thing.  He's not down on his knees, weeping, vowing to change his life.

What are you looking at, meathead?

I was really cranky last night.  I snapped at my daughter and wife.  I sat in the living room in my usual chair, sounding like Archie Bunker, minus the racism.  It got so bad that my wife looked at me and said, "What the hell's your problem tonight?"  And I coldn't answer her question.  I lapsed into sullen silence after she said that to me.  I figured it was a better option than opening my mouth and getting myself into real trouble.

My cranky night has translated into a cranky morning.  When my coworkers started showing up, I didn't really want to talk to them.  I knew I would come off sounding just this side of bitchy.  I was even annoyed by the sound of people eating today.  So I made a resolution to keep my mouth shut until the urge to insult or kill someone passed.

I'm doing better right now.  I can actually speak without a hint of sarcasm or irony in my voice.  I'm doing better.  (I have to keep saying that.  It's my mantra.)  Since I started this little Charles Dickens blogging exercise, I've often wondered how I would appear to myself if I could watch past, present, and future Saint Martys.  I wonder if I would change anything.  Make new-born resolutions or vows.  Last night and this morning taught me an important lesson:  my attitude and demeanor directly affect the people around me.

Therefore, although I'm not on my knees, I make this vow:

Saint Marty will not piss anyone off today.  Especially not his wife.