Now it is 2022. I rise early and settle in on the sofa in the den with Murphy and a big, beautiful mug of soy milky frothy coffee (I’ll get back on the intermittent fasting and Yerba mate wagon next week). It’s a morning like any other save for evidence that Daughter and Granddaughter might have rung in the new year in this room. Gerry and I were long since fast asleep by the time the calendar page turned.
Now we are tired of turkey. So tired that we enjoyed waffles with blueberries, maple syrup, and whipped cream for our last supper of 2021. There’s a pot of turkey soup and a bowl of turkey stew in the fridge destined for the freezer today. Out (temporarily) with the old. I’ll be grateful to have an easy meal on hand sometime later but for now, please, no more turkey.
instead, I’m craving green. A crisp salad would be lovely, but we don’t do salad out of season. Green beans, tucked away in the freezer last summer will be a treat, and broccoli from the green grocer and whatever else I can find to fill the craving for healthy food after a season of junk.
Now we crave normal. Gaudy sparkly holiday decorations have lost their lustre. We update shiny new calendars and seek a return to routine. We dare not imagine what kind of “normal” this new year will bring but we are ready for it. Be gentle with us, 2022. We are battle-scarred and weary. Your two predecessors were not kind to us.