Transition

Christmas is past and New Year’s Eve looms. The seasonal adversities are assailing me. There are the ghosts of Christmas past, the nostalgia for simpler times, when a box wrapped in shiny paper was more than enough to guarantee joy. The ghosts of Christmas future, the introspective angst, the desperate grasp for some little tiny bit of hope that will insure a good future and not bleak despair.

Then there is the ordinary ghost of Christmas present. Who knew that tamales and beer could add five pounds so fast! Okay, so that may have been an unexpected shift in timbre, but I’m a cyclist over 50 and five pounds is a tragic loss to the forces of youth. It was not such a big deal last year, I was only 49 but this year AARP has been reminding me weekly how old I am. There is no need to mention the memos from my skeleton and cryptic cartilaginous warnings that things may not be the same as they were a few years ago and a couple of asprin have replaced the Flinstone’s vitamins.

Lachrymose lamentations are not going to bring back the youth that so easily slipped away so let us turn to more practical considerations. I am considering New Year’s resolutions. I seldom make any, I so hate to be a disappointment to myself. I will make some goals for the coming year, nothing too lofty, just a simple plan to keep life from being keel-less and adrift.

I will not let you know the details of my plan. It is a personal guide for my own betterment and not a score card for the world to judge me. I will say I plan on riding a lot, having fun and being creative. Then there is the issue of tamales, beer and the astonishing five pounds. How do you say no to traditions, especially when they are ever so good? I refuse to eat low fat tamales or drink lite beer, life is to short to accept substitutes, so I guess I am going to just have to put in a few more miles.

Life is good.