#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
Fifty years ago, or so, I remember being mad at my mother on New Year’s Day. This moment has always stuck in my mind, because I couldn’t understand why, if it was a holiday, it didn’t feel special. I asked her what we were doing for the holiday, and she must have said nothing in particular. “So, it’s stay home and do nothing day?” I complained. I stayed home today and didn’t do anything out of the ordinary, but I didn’t mind. Because I’ve figured New Year’s Day out in a way that makes sense to me, and usually, even if we’re invited somewhere to do something I would rather stay home. I get what my mother needed and wanted about New Year’s Day. The Eve was the last blow out of the holiday season. New Year’s Day is about ending the holiday, cleaning up, getting ready to go back to school/work/schedule. I can certainly see why, as a kid who wasn’t out partying on New Year’s Eve, I would have wanted more excitement on this last day off. Today, after my walk in the woods I realized I have my Wednesday morning writer’s workshop prep to do. And the basement fridge to clean out for the pigs. I packed up all the party scraps saved from the start: two weeks before Christmas, and put all the leftovers in the back of my car and drove off to see the pigs at Unity Farm where they live and drop off the food. I wrapped presents I had yet to hand out to friends and delivered those. I put away the Christmas stockings, but left up the tree, (it’s still pretty and healthy), even though my mother always took ours down on New Year’s Day, and when she was too old to do it herself, I did it for her. We saw the kids last night to celebrate, so the house stayed quiet all day and my husband and I felt happy and satisfied with the holidays as we prepared for tomorrow. In the woods, this morning, instead of snow there was such warmth I wore only one shirt, and the tops of the trees were swinging and swinging under a blue sky with so much energy; I felt that energy all day, breezy and hopeful.
. . .
so this is the sound of you
here and now whether or not
anyone hears it this is
where we have come with our age
our knowledge such as it is
and our hopes such as they are
invisible before us
untouched and still possible
~ W. S. Merwin, Excerpt, from “To The New Year” Read the entire poem here