Years owning the farm; New Year’s days were filled with celebration overload and chores that required attention regardless of how lazy I felt. This first day, I never ventured farther than the bird feeders in the back yard. My attire was soft PJs and my chosen activity was downloading a new book and moving from my bed to the couch. There was no urgent need to do anything beyond small meals for myself and Alice. The hum of the furnace and the crackle of the fire were my theme songs and I vowed to give myself the day off.
With 364 days yet to come, I spread the contents of my memory jar across the table and reread the moments of the past year. The jar is empty but not in a negative sense. Like the days ahead, it is a receptacle for the joys, struggles and adventures yet to unfold.
In the past, I emptied the jar at midnight, alone on the eve of the new year. After reading each slip of paper, I tossed them on the fire. Last year I decided to place them all in a sealed envelope, a time capsule of sorts. So once again, with a final review, I carefully gathered them up and wrote 2015 across the front of a new envelope. The jar is clean and shiny again, the dust and fly specks of the past 12 months polished away. A new memory slip has already fluttered to the bottom.