Best Intentions

I started out with the best of intentions.  Over three weeks of time off (with the exception of one half day), without using a single vacation day, all thanks to my weird schedule and the way the holidays fell.  A gift like that can only come from divine karma and must be used wisely.  I had glorious images in my mind of meandering through all the little nooks and crannies of the city that I have yet to explore.  Wonderous dreams of conquering the one last stretch along the Humber.  Of being in full Christmas spirit, singing carols and enjoying my children’s delight on the Wednesday Walk night at the Downsview Festival of Lights.  Doing another downtown walk and discovering the holiday lights of Bloor, Harbourfront, the Distillery District.  I had romantic notions of arriving home from my office in time to walk my dog on the longest night of the year and enjoying the mystical silence and darkness of the lunar eclipse.   

Best intentions are almost always foiled by reality.  The fact that I had been working so much of late had meant that I hadn’t actually accomplished much in the way of Christmas shopping.  Three frantic days were spent aimlessly wandering not tree-lined trails but crowded, noisy suburban malls, same stores, different venues.  Two children could not be disappointed and of course they had to ask for things that sold out months before.  A husband who has way more disposable income than me and all the toys his heart desires.  Me cursed with a horrible dislike of shopping.  All the elements were lined up for epic fail.  Day three of the shopping blitz came close to bringing me to the fetal position in the corridors of a mall, nursing the fine vintage of wine tucked in my shopping bag.  One evening was lost to the inevitable office party which no one ever wants to attend.  Night after night, it was horribly, bitterly cold.  The winter solstice found me working long, hard hours and climbing bleary eyed to bed, magical moon moment forgotten.  A long established holiday tradition in our household in which either my husband or I get miserably sick seemed to fall to the wayside this year until I grandly stepped up to the plate.  Somehow I managed to lose two days this past week, falling asleep and barely moving except to weakly eat and pee.  I got called into the office where I slept at my desk for half a day in a flu fog, completely useless to everyone.  New Years Eve was celebrated in a drowsy NyQuil haze; a sad unopened bottle of champagne still sits in my fridge.  

But it’s the New Year with fresh beginnings and new starts. Santa was generous and brought round a shiny laptop to allow me to write whenever and where I can.  Despite a pesky cough, I’m slowly getting my energy back and expect to be able to hit some trails over the next few days.  I have a bunch of uncompleted blog entries just waiting to be finished.  A road stretches before me and I hope it’s long and winding.  And I hope you’ll come along with me.  Here’s to new adventures in 2011.