Dear January

Dear January,

Here's something I realized this morning.  We stopped opening the mail at this house somewhere around the middle of December.  It just sat there on the table in the entryway--expanding like a bag of frozen Rhodes rolls that somebody forgot about and left in the trunk of a car with a bunch of other groceries on a warm day.  And then by the time somebody remembered . . . wow.  Mess!

I've spent the morning sorting through the mail, wondering how all this unopening happened.  And of course I know. December happened.  Not only did December happen, but then family stuff happened on top of the already crazy December stuff.  So the mail.  Well.  We just forgot about it.

Here's the other stuff we forgot about.  Dogs and how they do better if walked daily.  Calories and how they count.  Money and how it is a finite resource.   Sleep and how crappy you feel when you aren't getting it.

Anyway, I love the holidays.  And as you know, January, you and I have had a complicated relationship.  More accurately, the two of us have had a dysfunctional relationship.  But I received an e-mail from Louise this morning saying, "Whoever would believe that January is looking better than December?"

I agree.  Thank you, January, for the promise of routine.  Order.  Healthy soups.  Guiltless nights sitting in front of the TV watching The Good Wife or Person of Interest and possibly still a little Modern Family.

Best wishes,

Ann Cannon