I waited until the crap year was well and truly over before I started to write. It is now officially 2021 where I am. Whew. Not sorry to see that year in the rear view mirror. Now, honestly, haven't we been saying that about almost every year for the last half dozen? I sure have. Remember when David Bowie, Prince, and Alan Rickman all died within the same year, and we lost our minds about how it was the worst stretch ever? Ah, we were so naïve. Who can guess what the next twelve months will do to us? Geez, I'm afraid to hazard even the smallest prediction for the next twelve days. One hour at a time, folks.
In our quest to find storage space and simplify our lives, we have been going through the mountains of stuff in the garage. I was handed a few boxes that have been there for years, some from my last move, and some that were from my dad off-loading when he sold his Atlanta house. A few things went in the donate bucket, and a few cool things ended up on my shelves and kitchen cupboards. One thing I didn't know was slipped in, among memorabilia from our years in Germany, was a card my brother had written, as an 8 year old fan, to Glen Campbell. I sent a photo of it to him and my mom in a Messenger chat. He wrote (in all caps) "If you had mailed that, we could have been BFFs!" Ever since, I've had Rhinestone Cowboy stuck in my head. I played it on Spotify. I'd forgotten how catchy it actually was. That was some good stuff.
It's time to retire, now that the year has finally rolled over. The fireworks are starting to die down outside. I am impressed with how well the animals did with the popping and booms. Even 5 month old Saoirse stayed chilled out. Alfred remained with the family the whole evening instead of hiding under a bed all night. We can all sleep peacefully now, hoping for signs of improvement from here.
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