The warmth of your love
Is like the warmth of the sun
And this will be our year
Took a long time to come

Don’t let go of my hand
Now darkness has gone
And this will be our year
Took a long time to come

I know I’m not the only person who was more than ready to kick 2018 out the door, and welcome in the promise of a new year.  Like a brand new pad of drawing paper, a brand new spiral notebook, a brand new computer with a virtually empty hard drive, a new year is a blank canvas, as yet untainted by politics or pain.

This last year, actually the year and change going all the way back to August 2017, has been a hard one for Fuzzy and me. We lost his mother, his father, and my stepfather. We also lost my last great-uncle, but that wasn’t a death that impacted me a great deal, except that I’m sad he was sick and suffering at the end.

And then there was my knee surgery.

While my mother was here, I was confronted with the fact that, as much as I’ve improved, I’m nowhere close to being completely healed. I found out earlier today that I did not make it into a writing residency I applied for, and my first reaction was not disappointment, but relief. I’m not ready, yet, to be traipsing around a walking city without Fuzzy’s help and support.

And speaking of help and support, I want to thank all my friends and family who have been with me on the journey through PT, and on the expanded journey of this podcast. Five years ago, when Nuchtchas told me about the Dog Days of Podcasting, I thought no one would care what I wrote, or listen to what I had to say. I’d probably have more listeners than Nutty and my mom if I bothered to make regular episodes (goal for 2019 – one a month) or tell people about it (like many people, I’m great at pushing other people’s art, and really bad at sharing my own), but the act of creation is often its own reward.

So, I wanted to take a moment and say thank you to ALL the dog days participants – those who did only August, and those who did something in December as well. Your comments, your mentions, your willingness to participate when I ask for volunteers – those mean so much. And your own podcasts make me smile, laugh, think, and wish I were on the ocean. This includes you Michael Butler – I listen to every episode. Really. I’m not naming any other names because I don’t want to miss anyone.

But also thank you to my other friends – Debra, Becca, Clay, Jancis, Fran, Selena, KM, Stones, Katie, OC, the entire Klingon Marauders fleet on Timelines, my cousins, Michelle, Kerrin, David, and Shirley, and my husband’s aunt Kathy. My own aunties, Patricia and Dee, and my local friends Kathy, Scott, Ben, Ian, Kimberlyn, and Trenton. You’ve listened to me whine, laughed when I was funny, provided encouragement when I needed it, and generally just been there.

And a special shout-out to my Mom. Because even though we push each others buttons the way only a mother and daughter can, she’s still my hero.

To the people who read my stuff wherever it’s posted and published, to the people who listen, to the people who just ARE.

Thank you.

In the poem “Story Water” Rumi wrote:

Water, stories, the body,
all the things we do, are mediums
that hide and show what’s hidden.

Study them,
and enjoy this being washed
with a secret we sometimes know,
and then not.

 

Thank you for sharing your stories, both fiction and not. I hope to hear more from you in 2019.

 

Thank you for listening to mine. I hope to share more in 2019.

 

This will be our year – all of us.

 

This will be our year
Took a long time to come