Turn the Page

One of my year-end rituals (really, "ritual" seems too big a word for this secretarial exercise) is to line up my weekly calendars--one year abutting the next--and nudge birthdays and anniversaries onto the fresh pages of the newest.  One bonus is that, as I turn the pages of last year, I am reminded of otherwise forgotten moments--Oh! A church workshop next Saturday!  The dentist at 11:30! My period started!  I also love seeing all those beautiful photos of the great big world outside--purple sea stars tickling each other on a beach in California, or a painted bunting sitting atop some bristle grass in North Dakota.

As I wended my way through calendars yesterday, though, what struck me most was the absence of my own handwriting.  Entire months were passed over, aside from the occasional name of a college acquaintance scratched into the corner of a particular date.  Otherwise, just great swaths of nature and whiteness, as though I had not been here at all.  Even big things--our trip to England and Scotland, Allison's move-in date for the dorm--brought no ink to paper.  This absence of a hand-written bread-crumb trail makes me fear I have lost last year entirely.

Is it no wonder that I walk purposefully into a room and suddenly can't remember why?

And so, I have resolved a few things on this first morning of 2015.  Three things, to be exact.  1.  I will read more poetry.  2.  I will try to savor whatever is before me.  3.  I will write down one thing on every single day of my Audubon 2015 engagement calendar, even if it seems like something insignificant.

Why the poetry?  Because a 53-year-old woman doesn't need all those restaurant-sized servings to thrive anymore.  Yes, I will continue to read fiction--plenty, I hope--but I will also treat myself to the refreshing tidbits that can come only from poetry.  Intellectual tapas, if you will--savory bites of life as I know it.  Easily consumed in one sitting.

And the savoring?  Well, I am not a dieter, even if I should be one.  And I have always favored short, memorable instructions over a lengthy lecture.  Give me three good words or less and I will do my best to follow them.  "Savor" is only one, and I think it'll serve me in all parts of my life--from the dinner plate (one cannot savor nachos and inhale them at the same time, you see) to the early-morning song of a screech owl, I will do my best to pay attention to what is in front of me.

Finally, the daily recording. . . this is both a practical and a selfish resolution.  Frankly, I can't bear to repeat yesterday's shockingly hollow secretarial exercise, so this resolution will guarantee that my weekly engagement calendar will be more engaging to review next December.  By the time I line up the calendars and pull out my pen next year, I want to be reminded of the moments that made up this year that is before me, the people and places and things that shaped and filled me.  Those moments are the stuff of a decent, quiet life and a pretty good poem, to boot.