Realizing not everyone has the patience or time to wade through some of my old Esquimalt columns I’ve chopped this one into 2 parts. It is also to serve the modern writing law that if something doesn’t go up on a blog on a regular schedule, readers tend to wander off in search of squirrels. So, this one is from a few years back and I promise, after part 2 on Thursday, I will return to regular programming (whatever that may be…I am open to suggestions, direction or “should you attempt another explanation of an historical event, prepare to have your face slapped, you presumptuous toad“). Anyway, this is from my personal Esquimalt News morgue.
Leaving aside the two hundred word story leading to the lightbulb phrase, there is a zen
saying that goes, “before enlightenment chop wood, carry water; after enlightenment, chop wood, carry water”. Much the same can be said about the transition from one year to the next and all the fuss made about that magical minute occuring when December 31st becomes January 1st.
Mind you, my dearest and I have reached that magical stage where just staying awake until midnight is pretty darn special. Each year we take turns being the one who stays awake and nudges the other just a few moments before the Seattle Space Needle lights up. The method of choosing who gets to snooze and who gets to watch “Batman Yet Again” is simple: whoever nods off first wins.
If one of our contributions to the gene pool happens to be caught at home on this special night, they tend to hide in their room, pretending to be anywhere other than at home with mom & dad. That isn’t so different from any other night of the week but it does take on a special poignancy at New Years.
I remember seriously considering sitting at the bus stop rather than be found under my parent’s roof once again as Dick Clark squeeked out his umpteenth greeting to the new year (and he was ancient even back in those days when the calendar was still something of a novelty). Adolescent inertia and Edmonton’s sub-arctic climate kept me inside, 
glowering at the tube, a glass of champers in one hand and one of those rattle type noisemakers in the other, daring anyone to come near me for a smooch and a death wish.
And the kids today think they invented goth.
In the light of day it all seems a little silly. Which is probably why so many New Years Resolutions end up sitting beside the Christmas tree heading to the Lion’s chipper in the arena parking lot. It took me three tries before I realized if I really wanted to quit smoking it wasn’t a good idea to announce my intention at the biggest whoop-up of the year. Either I’d forget or there would be at least one person who’d stayed sober enough to remember.
It is a good thing to set aside some time to say good-bye to the events of the past and to resolve to try to do a little better in the coming year. As Father Gillis used to say, confession is good for the soul; we can examine the times we’ve stumbled and also see those moments when we stood on the side of the angels. The former are a part of being human, the latter evidence of our potential to improve on that situation.
