Well, the 2018 version of the holiday letter is now in the capable hands of the USPS. I’ve had a merry band of family and friends follow this little blog since I started it on November 5th, 2018. Now I’m ready to open it up a bit.
I usually have a case of writer’s remorse after mailing the letter, but this year it’s extraordinary. I’m thinking of all the things I didn’t say about Gus and the kids. And I’m wondering why I prattled on so long about myself. Oh well, that’s why I’m back at the table in my fuzzy purple bathrobe. I now have a better chance to redeem myself…or not.
We sold our beloved cabin Up North this summer. The chances of retiring there were slim and the market was good for sellers. We cried on the dock before we headed to the closing and the end was certainly bittersweet. Despite delaying the closing date until after July 4th, we were still running around hours before signing it over to the new owners. Cleaning, packing the few belongings we didn’t sell with the place and racing against the clock. In a scene out of Prohibition, I was pouring old beer down the drain that was probably in the back of the fridge for four or five years. Yuck. We will miss our dear neighbors Andy and Marilyn and all of the fun we had at Birch Point.
Without a cabin, the need for an SUV greatly diminished so I traded it in for a sedan. I went shopping for at least three months and tried out a variety of vehicles. One feature I decided I must have was a heated steering wheel. Luckily, I found one and it happened to be attached to a used car that was a tad out of my price range. Jim flatly said, “No, you don’t need that much car.” I whined, pouted and emptied my savings account to purchase said sedan.
I had been enjoying my car for a few months when winter set in hard core. I found the button to activate my coveted heated steering wheel and felt I had arrived at a new level of luxury. A few days later, I said to Jim, “Wow, I must really be hitting the keyboard hard. My hands feel raw.” Then I noticed little blisters had formed where my palms gripped the wheel. My fancy schmancy cold weather package was working overtime.
In the dead of a MN November that car’s seat heater also scorches my rump even on the tamest setting. I had to share because I can’t think of a better example of a first world problem. Next thing you know, my ice cream will be too cold.
Thanks for finding the blog. More to come.