This post was supposed to come out right after New Year’s, but all of last week just vanished into one of 
those black holes that only people like Stephen Hawking understand. I vaguely remember doing the usual after-holiday jobs like packing away the Christmas decorations, washing linens, paying bills and clearing my refrigerator of UFO’s (unidentified food objects.) I also recall doing some unusual jobs. For instance, Paul rang in the New Year by rounding up about 75 dirty handkerchiefs from his pants pockets. Some of them hadn’t seen daylight since July so they were squinting and blinking in the bright light of my laundry room until I got them washed, ironed and ready for redeployment.
those black holes that only people like Stephen Hawking understand. I vaguely remember doing the usual after-holiday jobs like packing away the Christmas decorations, washing linens, paying bills and clearing my refrigerator of UFO’s (unidentified food objects.) I also recall doing some unusual jobs. For instance, Paul rang in the New Year by rounding up about 75 dirty handkerchiefs from his pants pockets. Some of them hadn’t seen daylight since July so they were squinting and blinking in the bright light of my laundry room until I got them washed, ironed and ready for redeployment. Then, I had to minister to Arturo, our 37-year-old ceramic penguin. At Christmas, three or four Santas replace him on the piano and he’s generally okay about spending the season on the sidelines. This year,
however, he must have engaged in some sort of a fracas over the holidays because he came out of the closet with a broken wing. Paul was more distressed about that than he ever was over the kids’ injuries. (See my post, “Is There a Doctor in the House?”) Anyway, it took 4 phone calls, 2 desperate emails, a trip across town to a ceramics studio for special glue and 24 hours of standing on his head for Arturo to make a full recovery. The only thing I didn’t have to do was make him chicken soup.The most vivid memory I have of last week is a montage of boxes, picture frames,
placemats, record albums, furniture odds and ends, golf clubs, baskets, old camping gear, vases, books and more books – all headed out the door after a marathon session of basement clean-out and reorganization. I am happy to report that Paul and I are still friends after this experience which ranks among the top two or three biggest challenges of our 40 years of marriage. I’m not sure I can say the same for the garbage guys and the pick-up crew from St. Vincent de Paul.Now I finally have time to think about New Year’s resolutions, although when I told Paul that was the subject of my first post for 2011, his immediate response was, “When have you ever kept a New Year’s resolution? In fact, when have you ever made one?” Well, of course I knew I had made and kept lots of New Year’s resolutions over the past 60 years even if I couldn’t come up with any examples at the time.
Actually, I did come up with one example but I decided not to share it. The January before I turned 60, I secretly resolved to focus on losing weight and even bought the first scale we’ve owned in 20 years thinking that would be an incentive. If you’re considering this strategy, I’ll tell you right now it doesn’t work.
When the scale said my weight had gone down a pound or two, I rewarded myself with the last of the caramel, chocolate and pecan turtles from my neighbor. When I stepped on the scale and my weight was the same, I knew I had gotten away with that second helping of Spaghetti Carbonara. And, when two extra pounds popped up on the scale, even after I had chosen grilled salmon and steamed broccoli over fried crab cakes and three cheese, garlic mashed potatoes, I knew I had been played for a sucker.I have really been trying to make a New Year’s resolution for 2011 – that is to incorporate all the things I’m supposed to do for health and fitness and mental well-being into my daily routine. The problem is that the list of stuff to include keeps growing at about the same rate as the national debt.
First I have to find time every day to eat all the “must-eat” foods. I should start with a cup of yogurt so I have
the right bacteria in my stomach. Then there’s orange juice with both calcium and vitamin D. My doctor said I also need a vitamin D pill; and I agreed to take that daily but ONLY because, unlike calcium supplements, the vitamin D pill is sized for a human not a horse. I have to fit in a handful of walnuts or almonds for cholesterol and something else that I forget (maybe it’s for memory??) in addition to the blueberry thing so I am properly anti-oxidized. Just as I was gearing myself up for the recommended 4 servings of fruit and vegetables daily, I saw in the newspaper that the recommendation is now 9 servings. 9 SERVINGS OF FRUIT AND VEGETABLES!! If I do that, I’ll never have room for chili cheese fries. I’m still considering my mom’s recommendation of 
eating 11 raisins marinated in gin every morning to help with arthritis, but I’m not wild about either raisins or gin. (Don’t ask me where the number 11 came from.)Besides the required foods, my routine should allow time for exercise and fitness – my favorite group of activities. (HAH!) I know I’m supposed to do an aerobic something or other every day. Walking an hour and a half with my friend Jean is no problem but sticking it out for as much as half an hour on the elliptical is a challenge, even if I’m watching “The Godfather” or “M*A*S*H.” or “South Pacific.” My physical therapist friend Sue also gave me a program of stretching exercises so my back isn’t stiff when I get out of bed, I don’t lose my balance when I put on my jeans, and my fingers are nimble enough to pick out the red jelly beans. On top of all that stuff, my routine is supposed to include using our weight machine 2 or 3 times a week. AAARRRGGGHHH!
In addition, I have to schedule practice on skills that need improvement. If you read my post “What Did I Have I Don’t Have Now,” you won’t be surprised that golf is at the top of that list. I had planned to do golf
swings in the basement every day. With John’s Christmas gift of an indoor putting green and electric ball return, I can polish up my short game as well. I really need to practice piano for at least 10 or 15 minutes every day so I don’t embarrass myself at my weekly lesson. And, since we just decided to spend a week hiking in Italy this spring, I bought “Italian In 10 Minutes a Day” and hauled out my old Italian book and flashcards. Given that I’ve had ten long years of memory cell deterioration and acquired smatterings of French and German since our last trip to Italy, I might need 1000 minutes a day to get a glass of wine and directions to the restroom. Then again, it might not make much difference. 
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