In a lot of traditions, the new year is an unruly time, a time to purge our world of all the accumulated flotsam and jetsam of the old year. We should prepare ourselves for the new dawn of a new year.
So much for theory, it’s rumination time for me. I can’t control it. The hobgoblins revisit me from my past. Things that normally recline in leisure in their shallow graves far from my thoughts.
So, I know this sounds grim, but there is a purpose to this annual visitation at the end of the year. It sounds more like All Hallows Eve than New Year’s Eve, but there is a reason.
Remember
It’s all there to make me remember. As a young man, I periodically repeated many mistaken behaviors in the hope that “this time I’d get it right, “this time it’ll work out, or “this time she’ll be the one.” So the annual visitations are graphic reminders that “Hey! Bozo! Remember!!” It’s a sort of alarm system for me. It reminds me that there are certain situations and people in the world that I need to avoid, reject, and be cautious around.
Just yesterday, I was reading about a woman who ran through a series of relationships with vulnerable men, cashing in emotionally and fiscally as she progressed. The description of her modus operandi and the details made me curl up and cringe. I knew that woman. No, not specifically, but I’d known one that operated in the same way. The experience prompted a “viewing” as my mind opened a floodgate and let out the ghosts. That individual type, either male or female, lurks for many of us. The mental review of horrors saved a younger Lou from redoing the horror story of that relationship with other women. I’d imagine that women have similar defenses against the male version of this type of predator.
There are other similar reminiscences to mull over this time of year. It’s a pageant of sorts. All object lessons are about what to avoid. For me, it’s a sort of immune system developed over the years to warn and re-warn a foolish younger man of pitfalls. It’s still active.
Nope. This is no time of year to apricate, lie in the sun, and enjoy life. That comes later.
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Happy 2026 🥂
I wish we had more control over the memories that just continue to pop up no matter how much we would like to dismiss them… Happy New year Lou.
The problem is that little things key them off.
But…Happy New Year’s to you as well!
Cats are natural apricators, aren’t they? Happy New Year to you and your gang!
Or in the winter, lie in front of the woodstove. I came downstairs at 4 am and found the two and the dog stretched out on pillows all comfy.
Lessons learned is a valid goal and just the day before yesterday I proved to myself that I have a long way to go. I determined to fill a very large hole underneath the front of the hall bathroom cabinets at floor level. Normally I wouldn’t care, but this is the entrance hall for a colony of ants that periodically decide to occupy the bathroom. I bought spray foam insulation, a flashlight, and laid on my back for an hour. I sprayed as carefully and gently as I could, building up slowly from the sides and trying to press the sagging foam back up into the hole, fighting gravity. While I waited in between sags, I filled all the other cracks I found down there, large enough for ants to parade through, three abreast. Each time I sprayed, I tried to resist poking that foam with my fingers more deeply into the holes, or to push up on the parts sagging toward the floor, but resistance was futile. By the time I gave up, I have foam insulation on every single finger and under all my nails, on my fleece jacket and in my hair. It was only THEN did I remember that only six months ago, I had done the same thing while insulating the new chicken house. And THEN I also remembered that this stuff is worse than super glue for getting it off human skin. After this summer’s hellish experience, I swore to never make this mistake again. Gah!!! stupid stupid stupid. I am now on day three with all fingers and thumbs still completely coated in foam insulation. There are twenty-nine separate sure-fire solutions on the Internet, and zero of them actually work, except time. Gloves? Gloves, you ask? Oh, I have gloves, yes. Gloves that would have been perfect for this task. Thank you for asking.
YUP! DONE THAT! Fun isn’t it!
I did can after can last summer on my fieldstone foundation that let all the vermin and water in. So far, it seems to work, but I’ve still got foam all over the place.
Oh my gosh, Lou! I am happy not to be alone in this experience.
I knew that woman, uh, er, man. That was the Evil X. I don’t ruminate on that asshole at all. I purged him for once and for all in an unrepeatable cleansing ritual. BUT I get it.
They are a type of predator regardless of the sex.