They have come up with even more horrifying terms for the snow now coming down in New England. The phrase “bombcyclone” was used on this one. Apparently the official term is bombogenesis, but that must not be frightening enough. Anyway, we are having a snow storm. A lot of snow is falling, the wind is blowing, and it is very cold. When you live next to the Atlantic Ocean with winds that move in a circular northeastern direction you get the familiar “nor’easter.” Which is what is happening now and has happened as long as there have been people inhabiting New England.

Instead of gluing themselves to the television, early New England farmers thought about how totally unpleasant it was to have to go out to the barn to feed the stock and go out in the yard to get more firewood. One on of their countless trips outside in a nor’easter, the thought must have come to CONNECT THE BUILDINGS!

Above is a schematic of one such arrangement, so common in old New England that a song celebrates it, called, plainly enough “Big House, Little House, Back House, Barn.” New Englanders don’t like to waste words either.

Anyway we are fine. Just snow covered. And the wind is blowing. And it’s cold. Stay warm wherever you are. Especially in the Southern Hemisphere. LOL!

I am determined to get my own drink, but even on my toes it is a stretch. This came to mind reflecting on a thoughtful comment on my post about resolutions. Debbie pointed out that even accepting oneself takes diligence. I have been pondering that and realize she is right.

There are many forces telling us that we are not all right the way we are. Mr. Rogers used to tell his audience every day, “I like you just the way you are.” But his voice is drowned out by a myriad of others. In American culture women are constantly told they are too fat and too old. Any weight must be “attacked.” Any sign of aging—and at 70 I assure you there are many—must be camouflaged, botoxed, sliced or filled.

Then there are all the reverberations from our childhoods. It could be the parent comparing children, a teacher shaming a learning struggle, or bullying from other kids. All reinforced the message that we were not all right.

No wonder we can all join in the activity of self improvement, knowing we will find support. It’s harder to find Mr. Rogers in our life. But we can start by trying to accept ourselves, stretch though that is. And then we can try to find people in our lives who, even if they aren’t wearing Fred Rogers’ sweater, are truly glad we are ourselves.

I imagine that I am writing some very serious words here on the beach. I am unconcerned that they will be washed away by the incoming tide. I feel that way about New Year’s resolutions. They may start out serious, but I am well aware that they are ephemeral at best.

I think that the seduction of New Year’s resolutions is the fantasy they provide that down the road we will be a different sort of person than the one we know so well today. Whether that person will be more organized, better read, less judgmental, thinner or more fit, we can easily imagine that person as we declare our resolution. It’s a fun exercise and one that millions of us seem to enjoy indulging in.

But the trick is the effort that would be required to get from who we are on January 1 to who we imagine we will become later in the year. Effort takes away the magic of resolutions which we tend to see as having supernatural power. Despite some television evangelists’ promise that we just have to declare it to see it come to pass, that has never worked for me.

So I resolve to accept myself for the slightly messy, pretty judgmental, overweight, reluctant exerciser that I am today. I wish the same for all of you. Happy New Year!

I have been looking back over the blogs that I followed in 2017 and wondering what happened to some of the writers. As I mentioned a couple of days ago, some write sporadically, but often enough for me to know that I can expect to see them back on-line. For instance, I follow an American who periodically introduces his readers to contemporary Canadian artists. I first encountered him when we were in Nova Scotia, and he has directed me to several interesting galleries.

Some of the blogs were more like a series of diary entries. That is they didn’t seem to be trying to engage a reader, but using the forum to vent, usually about love gone wrong. Sometimes these took the form of long phrases strung out to resemble poetry. I taught college students for 30 years, so I am certainly familiar with these voices. Most of these blogs have disappeared, probably because the writers’ lives improved. I miss them, though, since they reminded me of my former students and their drama filled lives.

More puzzling to me are the writers who were very consistent over many months and then just stopped writing. They had acquired the necessary discipline to post regularly and their content was interesting and well phrased. I have no idea what has happened to them. Was it just a lark? Did they find another passion they preferred? I would love to see a post some time about why writers quit.

Well, Happy New Year’s to all. We are in a deep freeze here, cold even for New England. No warmth in sight for at least another week, and even then it will just get back to freezing. 6 degrees F right now, -3 degrees F tonight.(helpful conversion table says this is -14 C to -19 C). Too cold to celebrate outdoors, so I will call it a night. Off to the flannel sheets and quilts. It’s a night to be thankful for goose down!