2023 Comes To An End

    Well, this has been a year. Yes, it certainly has. Been a year, I mean.  As my friend Mark Briner so perfectly said, "Another year comes to a close and nobody says it better than Lucy (Lucille Ball). I'd say here's to a better 2024, but, history."

    His words made me laugh. At this time of the year, people are full of resolutions, expectations, and hopes for the year to come. But, as Mark said... history.    

    I make no resolutions. After fifty years of promising to lose weight, it has sunk in that it probably won't happen, and torturing myself over what I do or don't eat won't change a thing. So, no weight related resolutions any more. Nope, not beginning a "weight loss journey." (That expression makes me gag.) Instead I follow the wise advice that my friend Dee Ashby once gave me about life.

    Life is full of ups and downs. We are going to have a lot of happiness, so we really need to be present in those moments when we are happy. Hold on to them. Savor them. Record them in our hearts and brains. Because the bad times will shake us to the core, and we need the memories that good can and will happen to take us through them. I lost Dee on May 1. I can't stand it that she is no longer here on Earth, but I am comforted that I can still feel the happiness we shared in life. I remember her excitement when she became engaged to Jerry, I remember Sarah's birth and her wedding, I remember trips to Allenberry, beach vacations, Independence Day celebrations, New Year's Eves dinners, goofy inside jokes, etc. etc. etc. The last picture taken of us was out of focus and so unflattering that even the best of filters couldn't improve it. But we are laughing out loud, our heads together, recording one of those simple happy times. It's my most beloved picture of us.

         I am thankful for the people in my life. My sister and her daughters are my "official" family. It goes without saying, I love them so much, and I am so thankful for them. I have lifelong friends that I met through theatre. When Harry Malin talked me into auditioning for a play being performed by a little local community theatre, I had no idea that it would change my life. I've been a member of the Tidewater Players for over forty years. I've had some amazing experiences and met many amazing people. Think about it folks, I've been on stage with naked men!! I have danced with a leg lamp, and the people I danced with loved and encouraged me even though I stunk (stank? Who cares? I'm no longer in the classroom.)

       

     I had a rewarding career. Again, a job that brought me many laughable moments and lifelong friends. I have teacher friends that I stay in touch with (some more often than others).  Now that many of my students are now heading into their 40's, 50's, and 60's, I can count them among my adult friends. I can't get them to stop calling me Miss Snyder, but what the heck. As Dee advised, I committed the happy times of my job to my memory- both in my heart and mind. 

    My church friends have kept me going this year, without a doubt. We operate a food kitchen every week, and it certainly gives me an appreciation for my blessings, as well as a chance to make a difference in a cruel world. Oh, the people I've met! There's the elderly frail couple who look like they stepped right out of Mayberry RFD. They entertained me one day with the ins and outs of the marijuana industry because when they were younger they grew their own and had a booming local business. I did my best to keep my eyeballs from popping out of their sockets as they told me their story. There's my down-on-his luck ex-convict buddy who once served eighteen years for murder, and frankly, I would trust him with my life. We serve aliens to our country without questioning their legality or illegality, but by welcoming them and providing them with food and kindness, as well as educating our other clients to be compassionate.  Because of my church family, I am an active participant in doing God's work on Earth year round.  My church peeps are special people, who make me laugh, who pray for my concerns, and bless their hearts, who even threw me a surprise party for my 70th birthday. Sheila, especially, keeps me grounded and entertained. This year we drove to Florida to babysit Mike and Steve's dogs. And, then she and Betty took me to Mar-a-lago so I could give trump a middle finger salute. One of the highlights of this year!

     As 2023 comes to an end, I reflect not only on this year, but the years that have led up to 2023. The years blend into each other, and the best way I can figure out when something happened is "before or after Covid."  The bottom line, when it comes to thinking about the next year, is exactly what Mark said: "... here's to a better 2024, but history."

One is silver and the other's gold: a eulogy for my friend Dee

 Dee and I were friends for a long time.  So long that I can't even remember how we met. I think we met almost 40 years ago through Tidewater Players. If you know anything about community theatre, you know that those people are the ones who become friends for life. And we were.

Dee and I were single when "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" was a popular song; it was our going out song. And did we have fun! If there was a party to go to, we were there. We had a lot of fun nights dancing and drinking and laughing our heads off. The Crazy Swede was one of our favorite places. Eventually our single days of partying came to a bit of a slow-down when Dee met Jerry Ashby. She and Jerry both credit me with getting them together. She wanted to get to know him better, so I suggested she have some plumbing issues. He made a house call, and the rest was history. 

They married at Dee's mom's house before a small group of friends and family. It was a beautiful sunny Saturday afternoon.  It wasn't long before Sarah was on the way. Dee wanted a baby, and she had waited a long time for her.  Because of her high-risk pregnancy, Dee was hospitalized in the weeks before Sarah was born.  She always told me how thankful she was that Jerry was able to spend so much time with her. And how blessed she felt to have Sarah in her life.

Sarah was the light of all of our lives. She went everywhere with her parents and her grandmother. And me, her Aunt Barb. One of my favorite memories was Dee, Shirley, Sarah, and I at a coffee house in North East.  Sarah loved the music and she made the three of us sing and dance with her all night.  These were the kinds of events that made Dee happy. Simple times. Being with her Mini-Dee was what made her happiest. And we were lucky to have a lot of fun times together. Dee became even happier, if that's possible, when her grandchildren were born. Her family is what she lived for.

This is a story probably few of you know. Did you know that Dee saved a life? We were in Ocean City, swimming in the hotel pool. These two little kids came to the pool on their own. Dee had her eye on them the whole time. And a good thing, too. The little girl walked down the steps and jumped in the pool. Where she sank like a rock to the bottom of the pool, making no attempt to resurface. Dee pulled her up, both of them terrified and spitting water. We could see their parents on the 3rd floor balcony with drinks in their hands. Oh my God, Dee was furious.  She sent the children back upstairs and told them never to come back by themselves. I had to hold her back from going after those parents. Had we not been there, there was no one else in the pool area. That child would have drowned.

Some of my favorite Dee memories involve holidays, especially the Fourth of July.  My family would come from PA and stay at the Vandiver Inn, and we'd party all weekend.  We'd watch the parades in front of our church or in front of the Inn.  We never cooked out, but ate at the local restaurants or had pizza delivered. Sarah loved the carnival, and one of Dee's favorite memories was a night at the Carnival and Fr. Rory riding all the rides with Sarah.  We traveled a lot and had some terrific trips. Ocean City became an annual tradition.  Cape May NJ at Christmas time. A Caribbean cruise. The Allenberry Murder Mystery weekends. And one of our most memorable trips was the senior citizen bus trip we took down south to South Carolina and Georgia. We were sitting outside one night by the pool chatting and enjoying the fresh air. A bunch of guys were across the pool barbequeing.  They called to us, Hey you girls want to come over and have a drink? They called us girls! We jumped up and joined them.  When we glanced over at the motel, the people from our bus trip were plastered at the windows, their mouths dropped open and probably praying for our hedonistic souls. New Year's Eve was always special.  Sarah would have her friends over and Dee had hers.  We would drink and eat and laugh all night. Then at midnight we'd walk outside to watch the fireworks and then laugh some more. Laughter. It's the laughter I remember the most about all my time with Dee. 

Dee was one of the most considerate and caring persons I ever knew.  She started the annual Pancake Supper at St. John's Church.  She and Jerry paid for everything and insisted it be a free dinner for whoever wanted to come.  Lots of food, wonderful fellowship. She also began the annual Epiphany parties and gift exchanges at the church.  Every holiday for years she sent cards and little gifts to friends of hers who lived alone and needed to know someone cared about them. She was a giver, both of her time and her money. Her generosity was huge, but not showy. She taught me a lot about generosity.  Helping others is one of the many gifts she left me with.

There are 40 years of stories and remembrances I have. Far too many to put into a Eulogy.  I will treasure all my memories of Dee, all of them. I can't believe my Dee is gone. She has filled so many years of my life. She was every bit as much my sister as Helen is.  I want to end with a short poem.  I read this poem once before, and that was to say goodbye to our dear James. Today, I say goodbye to my dear Dee.

Nothing Gold Can Stay

   by Robert Frost

Nature’s first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf’s a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

Our last picture together. March 2022. LAUGHING!!!

The Ultimate Countdown

My niece and I have been playing a telephone game called Locket.  Each day we send a picture of ourselves to each other and sometimes attach a little message to it. She is so breathtakingly beautiful; her pictures are works of art. Me? I am another story.  I don't know what it is about that App, but it emphasizes every wrinkle in my face, every pouch under my chin, every circle and puff around my eyes, every sun damaged blemish, every thin gray hair.  I rarely wear make-up anymore, so my pictures are the real me. And they make me sad. I am so old, so fat, so wrinkly, so not as I internally picture myself.

And then it hits me like a sledgehammer, that is me. And I am seventy years old. Seventy...where has the time gone?

I can hardly believe I am this old. My body feels it, but my mind keeps me somewhere around late 40's/early 50's.  Hell, if I had children, they would be that age. I look at the cute guys in a bar, and the ones I like are somewhere between 40 and 60. The ones my age look like grandpas.  Seventy feels ancient, older than sixty or fifty ever did. My friend Larry helped clarify my jumbled feelings. He is a year older than I, and he gets it. Hitting seventy begins the ultimate countdown. How much more time do I have? 

My best friend is dying. She has brain cancer. I know I should be glad to be turning seventy because Dee will not see her next birthday. But I am not glad. I am lonely, and sad, and grieving. Growing older may be a privilege, but there's a price to pay. Those who continue, have to live with the grief of loss. I have many happy memories of wonderful adventures that Dee and I shared.  She has said it, she lived a good life. But I want more adventures with her. Ok, maybe just more lunches at our favorite restaurants. Never again will we laugh over wine at how stupid I look in a lobster hat. Our adventures are done. I'm seventy and she's only a few years older; that mournful recognition is a part of my birthday. I hate it.

I keep trying to stay active and involved because I learned through Covid that it is very easy for me to hole up in my house and hibernate. My last grand act of trying to keep up with the young ones was to be a part of the ensemble last December for "A Christmas Story" with the Tidewater Players. I was the oldest in the cast, and it showed. I never thought I would learn the three minute dance with the famous fish-netted leg lamp. It was tough enough for me to learn it when we practiced with a stick. Then we got the heavy lamps. Forget it! But, I did not give up. I did most of that dance correctly and with a smile on my face (well, except that one night when a certain diva shoved me out of her way. If the lamp hadn't been so heavy, I'd have beaned her with it.) Anyhow, I can say I DID IT at 69 years old. I danced with a true borrowed from Broadway prop---a leg lamp!! Even though I danced like Lucy Ricardo when she infiltrated Ricky's shows, I did it. (If you are too young to understand the Lucy Ricardo reference, google it.) That was most likely my last time on stage as my old legs can't handle the steps, my old brain has serious issues remembering lines, and there are many others in their forties, fifties, and sixties jumping in to play the old lady roles. Yet another stage (ha ha that's a pun) of the ultimate countdown.

The oddest thing happened to me as I attended yet another funeral last Saturday. (I have a witness, so this really happened.)  A tiny little woman needed to pass by me. I smiled at her as I moved over, and out of nowhere she said, "You are beautiful." I thanked her and laughingly told Gay Lynn that one doesn't hear that every day. But it has stayed with me all week, and made me smile. Me? Beautiful? LOL The poor woman probably had cataracts. How could she say that to me? I am so old, so not beautiful. So headed for the ultimate countdown. 

Both of my parents died when they were eighty. I carry the weight of this knowledge as I approach my seventieth birthday in the next hour. Do I at least have ten more years left? Will they feel more like ten minutes as time flies by? 

Probably some of you believe this line of thinking is a terrible way to approach my birthday.  You won't hear me vocalize a word of this. I will go through the day with a smile on my face because I'm doing something I like. Unlike others who really know how to do birthdays, I have nothing special planned for a celebration. Tomorrow will be a normal day of our church's food kitchen, then dinner and cards with the girls. Tomorrow will be like every other Friday in my old-lady life. I will spend the day doing what I enjoy as I mark the beginning of the ultimate countdown. 

Please, if you wish me a happy birthday, don't hesitate to tag on "and many more." I'll appreciate it.

You probably don't want to read this, but I need to say it.

 Because I can't stop my thoughts, maybe expressing them will help me let go and relax. Don't read if you're not old; I don't think you'll get it.

A lot is on my mind. I can overthink anything. 

I am an empath, and that can be good or bad. Lately, it's been tough. So many of my friends have been widowed in the past year or so. I ache for them because the changes in their lives are so drastic. My neighbor who lost her husband last week is a real mess. It actually gives me anxiety when I am with her because I am "gut worried" about her. She doesn't want to live. What can I say to her, except I get it. We are a very lonely society. 

I used to be sad that I never married and had my own family. However, I have had "friend-families" and my sister and kids who fill my life, so I am good. I think. I know how to do many things on my own. I enjoy my own company. And, I have filled my days with great hobbies. Lucky me? Maybe. I know as we age, we lose...people we love, health, memory, looks, bladder control. It's so hard getting old. I have noticed since the pandemic I stay more to myself. I don't go out as much. I don't answer the phone or return calls in a timely manner. I miss appointments, even though I have checked the calendar many times. I don't ask anybody for anything because I don't want to be disappointed. Yet, I disappoint myself constantly.

 I feel very depressed when I look at the mess our world, and especially our country, is in. What the hell is going on? How can anyone justify trump and the current Republican platforms as acceptable for our country? How can anyone believe that January 6 was not an attempted coup led by a fake "president" who remains unaccountable for his treasonous behavior? I will not agree to disagree; I will not stop calling people out for their despicable supremacist behavior; I will not fail to note your "I've got mine, I don't care about yours" behaviors and attitudes. I am dismayed that racial prejudice seems to have become more intense and visible in our country. No, you are not better because you are white. And don't tell me you have black friends, so you can't be a bigot. That's bull. I hate that the middle class suffers financially when the wealthy in this country don't pay the taxes that would solve so many of our problems. How do they sleep at night? Much better than I do from what I hear. 

Speaking of sleep, I can't get much. I worry more than ever. I don't know if other people my age feel this way. If I look too much at Facebook, everybody else is having the time of their lives. And, I'm not. Yet, many people who know me consider me one of the strongest and most secure persons they know. HA! Listening now to Peggy Lee, "Is that all there is?" I used to think this song was so self-serving and depressing. Now, I get it. Is it growing old? Or is it just me? I have come a long way as far as my jealousy towards others who have it better (so it seems). I am much more comfortable with myself. I know my worth. I don't hate my body, I just wish I had the strength to make it healthier. I actually like my white hair. Sorta.

As we age, I think people need religion more than ever. My faith suffers as I watch people use Christianity and the Bible as reasons to discriminate, outlaw, hate, reject, interfere in, and destroy the lives of others. The hypocrisy spewed in the name of Jesus makes me sick. I am watching this country turn into "The Handmaid's Tale" and I am appalled that women are sitting back and letting the male government destroy their healthcare and their rights to decide with a medical doctor what to do with their bodies. Nobody is promoting the involuntary vasectomy of anybody who gets an unmarried woman pregnant, how come?  Yet, those same people justify a ten-year old rape victim carrying a baby to term because it's God's will. Can you stop your insufferable Christian superiority for one moment to actually think about what you're saying? The Christian outrage over gay marriages is almost laughable as one sees all the divorced and cheating spouses who pretend to be so disgusted by same sex partnerships. Their cheating, lying, divorcing "sins" are forgivable.  I am appalled that Christians justify acts of prejudice and cruelty as Biblically appropriate. I want to smack smug Christians who look down their noses at and think they are better than anyone else because they know Jesus. Two of these devoted "Christians" actually told me after her death, that my mother went to hell because she was not a born again Christian with a relationship with Jesus. Who are you people? What gives you the right to judge so arrogantly just because you believe in Jesus? 

Life just makes me sad anymore. That's a scary thought because basically, I have a good life. I want to live a long life. But, does it have to be so freaking sad?  

My Fiftieth High School Reunion

This weekend was my high school reunion. My 50th high school reunion! The reunion of Upper Merion's class of 1971.  The tenth time that a dedicated committee has brought us together.  Amazing people. 

This year brought an additional challenge, the Covid virus.  A number of my closest friends did not attend.  After all, we're 68. We are old. That virus wants to kill us.  We had to fill out a contact sheet in case anyone came down with the virus.  Chances are good.  Few people wore masks. (My Ruth Bader Ginsberg mask didn't match my ritzy, glitzy blouse.) Odds are good there were a number of unvaccinated people.  And, because we're old we had to lean in close to squint and read name tags or stick our ears up to someone's mouth to hear them speak. We hugged; we hugged a lot. Hopefully, our reunion won't be remembered as the  Class of 1971 Super Spreader Event.

Part I of the reunion happened on Friday when we toured the old high school.  It will be torn down as a new school is being built, so I truly appreciated Huck L. and Sherri B. taking us down memory lane.  Well, memory lane for some people. Nothing looked familiar to me.  Glen T. found his locker and assured me that mine had to be somewhere near his because homerooms were alphabetized in the good old days.  Nope. Nothing. Until we saw the staircase. Oh, I remembered that staircase and all the times I had to run from the gym, up those stairs to my locker, and then down those stairs to catch the bus....or watch it drive away. Good times. It was interesting to see the pool again as so few schools have pools anymore. That sure brought back memories...the horror of wearing regulation bathing suits provided by the school.  And if you were a fat girl, the horror of walking by the boys to get to your bench.  Another trauma for me was being blind as a bat, unable to see a thing without my glasses, and getting yelled at by Mrs. Harlan because I couldn't see her and I had no idea what was going on. In the old days, teachers didn't have to accommodate disabilities. You were on your own.

A Happy Hour followed at a popular local restaurant called Peppers.  A few beers and everybody was friends again.  I talked to Kathy R. and it was delightful. She, too, is a retired teacher.  And, I haven't seen her in 50 years!!!  How many people have you not seen in 50 years that you can jump right into a conversation with? The retired teacher part didn't hurt; we survivors of the educational trenches share a universal bond. I walked up and introduced myself to people rather than play a guessing game.  I let them pretend they remembered me and told them it was great to see them again. When I left, the party was still going strong. The Class of 1971 showed those young whipper-snappers at the bar, who were wide-eyed shocked at the idea of a fiftieth reunion, that old people rock!

The big event started the next day at a senior appropriate time ,6:00pm, and was held at a fancy hotel with a parking lot perilously far from the front door.  That's when I noticed that my dress shoes, which I've probably had for twenty years, were on their last legs. I kept slipping out of them and praying they wouldn't  disintegrate before I walked in the front door. (I tried on four different outfits before I settled on one, but I never thought to check the shoes. Let this be a reminder to you, dear reader, if you want to be comfortable at a big event, check your shoes.) The hard working committee made name tags with our high school pictures on them.  Of course, the print was big so I could read them without getting too close. Everybody was so nice. Everybody pretended they remembered everybody else. Everybody was joyful. It was such an "up" evening!

I enjoyed catching up with people. My good friend, Laurie R. was my dinner date. The food was good and so was the conversation at our table. Laurie sat to my left, my goods friends Janet and Glen T. to my right, and the hunkiest boy in the senior class, Walt W., sat across from me with his adorable wife who has also come to all the reunions.  After dinner, I wandered the area trying to catch up with long time friends.  I have to give a shout out to Nancy N.  She is still working full time as a nurse in Florida. Last year, she worked the Covid unit. Nancy, you are a hero! And there was Chris C., a boy who gave me a carnation in seventh grade, and just made the day of a shy and not too attractive young girl. I never forgot him or his sweet gift. He forgot it, of course, but I think I made him happy to let him know he was remembered so fondly all of these years. Fifty years folks, fifty - count 'em.  Patty B. (who has the most whimsical picture in our yearbook as she looks off into the distance thinking what a PITA picture day was) was there with her brother. I was immediately transported to the old days when I used to bring my brother, Glenn, to the reunions. So many of his friends were at the reunion and they told me stories of why and how much they loved him.  One classmate, who has already told me bits and pieces about their trip out west, wanted to tell me stories about my brother and the women he met on the trip.  I still don't want to know that!  I only had to tell a couple people that Glenn had died, for which I was thankful. And I was thankful, too, for the good thoughts shared with me. I always joked that Glenn had more friends in the Class of 1971 than I did. 

Which brings me to the classmates who were not there and who will never be back again.  I remember the first few years when a table held red roses (donated by the father of one of our classmates killed in a car accident) and a 5x7 picture frame with the names of those who were gone.  This year there were two sheets of poster paper with names and pictures of classmates who have passed away.  I was in for some big shocks as many people I remembered fondly were gone. People I had hoped to see, gone.  I left the table and then returned three times to try to gradually absorb all the names. That's when the whole concept of fifty years truly hit home.

Yes, the pretty and popular girls were there. No, they didn't get fat and ugly, they are still pretty.  And they are nice. Easy to talk to. Happy to be there.  I have to say that most of them were easily recognizable. I told Janice R. she still looked like a kid, and I meant it!  Bonnie D. is still just as cute as can be. I don't think Kitty H. will ever age. But the person who surprised me most was one of the quiet beautiful prom queens. I remember her as a petite blonde long-haired prom queen who wasn't much of a smiley person, and didn't have the time of day for me. She's seems tall now (why did I remember her as so small?) and outgoing, with a big smile, and she remembered me and was happy to greet me. Repeatedly. Because  I kept forgetting who she was since she looked so different. Ha ha ha. We laughed. 

There was dancing that night. The dancing girls were on the floor. I used to dance all the time because Marianne Y. would pull me onto the dance floor.  But, she was on the poster board, and not there to drag me out.  So, I watched the fun girls dance.  And I fastened my eyes on one guy. My secret crush, ah, maybe not too secret. The kind-hearted guy who I think has aged well  and is still adorable.  And I watched him dance with the dancing girls as I sat in my chair  and wished he'd pull me onto the dance floor.

My fiftieth reunion.  So much has changed. Some things remain the same. Looking forward to fifty-five! Classmates, if you're not on the poster board, be there. You'll be surprised at the fun you have.

My Thoughts on Texas and Abortion

 I watch the news. One thing that has appalled me is the glee with which the Texan republican lawmakers passed their recent abortion bill/abomination.

There is no denying that this law is meant as punishment for women who have had sex. If not, why is no thought given to the other half of the equation? No reparations. No responsibility. No jail time for them. No "punishment." No acknowledgement of the male except in a proprietary position - the rapist who can claim visitation rites, the neighborhood guy who gets a kick out of seeing how many babies he can father and who thinks a box of diapers is support, and so on.

These same male lawmakers who believe it is their "Christian" duty to force women to do with their bodies what they (men) believe is right, are the same men fighting against wearing a mask because it's their body and their decision. Huh? Why does that battle cry not apply to women and their bodies? How can anyone not recognize the hypocrisy of these so-called men? Why are all women in 2021 not standing up and fighting this insult to their autonomy?

You know what really happens when laws like these challenge Roe vs Wade? Women don't stop having sex. Or getting raped. Or getting sexually abused by members of their own families. Women seek out illegal abortions. Frequently they die from those backstreet abortions, and it's a very painful death. However, make no mistake about it, the need for abortion will not be legislated into oblivion. I know women who had abortions and now they stand on the side of anti-abortionists because they've "learned better." Dear women, how do you forget your panic? your need? How can you deny this option to other women? What have you actually learned?

Please, don't cry for those "poor babies." Those babies are safely with Jesus. Yes, Christians who are so worried about the babies: their. souls. are. with. Jesus.

The real poor babies are the unwanted ones, the ones born into poverty, the trafficked children, the abused children, and the hungry children...hungry because lawmakers believe cutting their benefits will force their parents to work. Be truthful - do any of you who are so appalled about abortion do anything to help the children in poverty? to care for the abandoned and unloved? These poor children are not with Jesus; they are in hell.

I hope in 2021 our lawmakers come to their senses. I hope in 2021 women realize they deserve to make their own decisions about their bodies. I hope for a miracle.

2020 A Year for the Books

 Literally, 2020 was a year for the books.  The last time I read so many books was when I bought my house and I was too poor to go anywhere or do anything else. I love to read, but not necessarily when it's forced upon me as it was this year.

2020 was rough on this country and rough on the world. The Covid-19 virus crippled us in ways we'd never seen before.  Businesses died. People lost jobs and homes. Hospitals were overwhelmed, their staffs exhausted beyond anything previously experienced. Schools closed and opened, then closed and opened again with teachers doing the best they could with little in the way of helpful direction. Zoom communications replaced physical contact, for those who could figure out the technology. Tempers flared. Fights over mask wearing put shoppers and store staff in danger. Riots broke out, each "side" blaming the other "side." People died. Alone. People survived. Alone. Our government did little, if anything, to alleviate our fears, our struggles, our loneliness.

As bad as it was, 2020 was NOT the worst year of my life. That honor goes to the year I broke my leg and my mother died. The second worse year of my life? That was the year my brother died. The third worse year of my life was the year I bought my house, experienced a vicious group of parents determined to get me fired, determined (and successful) at making my life miserable, and the terrible depression I waded through. So, in perspective, 2020 runs as the fourth worst year of my life. Heck, fourth place barely gets an honorable mention in the contest of the worst possible year.

I hope this year is much better for all of us.  I have hope in a new administration and some humanitarianism returning to our government.  I have hope that vaccines become available to all and put an end to the deadly hold Covid has on the world. I have hope that I'll play trivia again, hug my friends again, return to art classes again, act in a play again, and travel again. 

I need to get back to Key West and have another reading with the gentleman who read my cards. He predicted this year's setback. He wasn't quite sure what he was seeing, but he told me I'd survive it. I have hope that he'll read my cards again with much more optimism. 

2020 ends tonight. I have hopes that its bad karma goes with it. Happy New Year everybody. May you live to enjoy it.