Today is Epiphany, Twelfth Night, the last day of Christmas. Thinking about Epiphany always makes me think about James Joyce's lovely story, "The Dead", which takes place on Epiphany and has one as its main event.
I could use the latter kind of epiphany. For the capital "E" kind, we celebrated by writing, eating leftovers from our New Year's Day dinner, and taking down the meager number of Christmas decorations we'd put up. The Christmas door is undecked, the altar to the Great God Book is long emptied, the books all back in their places, various hanging balls are all packed and boxed up and resting in the basement for their next appearance.
All that's left of Christmas are two gift bags, one for Devin and one for Tamar, because as they've both been traveling we haven't managed to get together yet to exchange gifts. Oh, and we do have some leftover chocolate in case of dire need and some cookies still in the freezer.
My unscheduled entry summarizing last year makes me think about what I want for this year. Obviously, I don't want any bad or ugly. Duh.
I want to finish all my writing projects, sell everything, keep the house perfectly clean, keep Jim (and the cats) perfectly happy, cook exquisite meals, get my study sorted out and catch up and stay caught up on my email. Ha. Well. We'll see, won't we? It should be an interesting year as it brings my mother's 80th birthday, our 25th wedding anniversary, and my 50th birthday. I'll keep you posted.
I wish us all an epiphanous year, which the Oxford English Dictionary tells me means resplendent. May it be short of epiphora, which the same source describes as superabundant tears.
Epiphanous. Resplendent. May it be so.
For my reading, listening writing, and a selection from my [Jim's] 1994 journal, check Les Semaines.