Year-end reckoning is unavoidable for me. The hilarity of New Year’s Eve escapes me, but Auld Lang Syne seems just right. As the items on the list to reckon pile up—created by more time on this earth—it seems to become a more insistent chore. My reckonings fall into several major categories.
The Practical
Practical reckonings include a hard look at the year’s expenditures. This may result in some retrenchment, particularly with regard to annual or monthly expenditures. Yoast, Bluehost, JetPack, GoDaddy—all necessary to the administration of this blog, all on notice for a good, hard look. Donations to politicians or political parties always are high on the retrenchment list, but will remain due to the danger we face from the wrecking ball in the White House. The League of Women Voters https://lwvma.org/ is not in danger of losing my tiny donation. High on the retrenchment list too are attendance at writer’s conferences in order to pitch to agents. Money spent on charitable causes tend to roll over into the next year, especially those that provide food, shelter and medical help to humans and animals (have no fear, Donkey Sanctuary of Ireland http://www.thedonkeysanctuary.ie/).
Do I really need to subscribe to The Irish Times? Considering my obsession with the Brexit backstop, yes I do. And why don’t I cut ties with all streaming movie providers which can’t transmit a signal of pure, unbuffered streaming? No small feat considering the low speed Internet our hamlet endures, yet Netflix manages.
Also to be reckoned with: the time I didn’t spend unsubscribing emails from every store or service I’ve ever tangled with this year. The quiet time at the end of the year is a good time to tackle this tedious chore.
The Regrets
Regrets loom large at this time of year. Having just read an article (https://www.theguardian.com/science/2018/dec/04/tough-as-old-boots-a-thames-skeletons-durable-footwear-tideway-tunnel) about the excavation of a skeleton wearing the medieval equivalent of Wellington boots, I can’t help but wonder why I ever did anything with my life other than some sort of archaeology. Why does anyone? The Thames River foreshore and every plan for a new car park in England beckon. Underneath molder the bones of Richard III or the mudlark in his leather Wellies.
I regret that we did not move to the country sooner—much sooner—and that I did not stick with the fiction I was trying to write in my 20’s. While a cliché, I feel a deep regret for the times I’ve been less than kind—for instance, I deeply regret that I wasn’t more patient and kind to my mother, more understanding of her dementia. Other than those regrets, I’m 100% Édith Piaf (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rzy2wZSg5ZM)—OK, 80%.
The Blessings
Overheard in a local hardware shop just before Christmas—one woman offering her holiday blessings to three others. I can’t bring myself to bless anyone unless they sneeze, but my reckonings include counting my blessings (the end of the year tends to bring out the cliché in me—sorry). Mine include health, peace, safety and a quirkily luxurious life (not everyone’s cup of tea, our existence, but we have everything we want). My greatest blessing, and I’m perplexed that she’s put up with me so long and so well—is my loving and beloved wife Suzy. I’ve managed a few caring friends and family as well, and of course the apple of my eye: our dog Oscar.
The Future
The moment the past is reckoned, the future arrives. Future reckonings will include all of the other categories, plus another one that can’t be denied: fear. As the danger and chaos of the world increase, and bring fear, so too does ageing and whatever it will bring for me and mine. Sickness, suffering and death have jumped onto the reckoning list, although at any age we are vulnerable to a visit from any or all of them. Still, there’s no denying that this fear is now higher on the reckoning list.
During every day, during every moment when one foot is placed in front of the other, there is hope, too. One of the best things about living where we do is the hope found in nature. There on display for us every day is the astonishing beauty found in nature (www.constancegemmett.com/never-the-same/), and there found is hope, too.
There also is hope to be found in every walk that I take with Oscar, every laugh that I share with Suzy, every sentence I write that works and pleases me, and hope that the writing pleases an agent or publisher—although the act of writing gives me hope all by itself. My reckoning for 2018 will therefore include hope at the end of the list, and it is a category that I will roll over into 2019.
Hoping the best for you, dear reader— Happy New Year.
