2026 Here We Go

 

I’m not one to make a big deal of the calendar flip—or actually, I guess, calendar renewal, as I pull one from the wall and replace it with another Black Cat calendar from Willow Creek Press. (Yes, I know I have a calendar on my phone and on my computer, and no, I don’t use them. I love standing in front of 30/31/28 blocks of time with a pen in my hand and organizing my days.)

Nor am I one to make New Year’s resolutions. (Previously, I had the same resolution every January 1^st: Turn my mattress over. But we don’t turn mattresses anymore. We rotate them. And we’re supposed to do that once a month. I try.) However, I do want to make a couple of changes in 2026, so I’m going to resolve to do so by putting them here in writing for all the world to see (or, probably, the thirty or so people who will actually read to the end of this post).

So here we go:

1. I resolve to post to my blog once a week every other week. Even in the year that I started the blog—which was, like, seventeen years ago, holy cow!—I didn’t post every week. But I was still teaching then. Life on the mountain was idyllic but busy, and I only had weekends to compose posts. Now I have more time at home, but I’m working on multiple writing projects, so I’m still busy. Anyway, doesn’t matter—I’m determined to post more often. There, I said it.

2. I resolve to play my guitar every day. Strange as it may seem, this one is way, way harder. Right now, I’m sitting at my computer desk in the dining room. My guitar is approximately seven feet away, sitting on a stand, ready to be picked up and played. But Jenny is sitting on top the writing desk by the window, gazing out to the street, watching the rain fall and hoping to see a bird hop onto the porch. If I pick up the guitar, she’ll leave me and head for the bedroom. So will Maudie, who is lying on the floor nearby. No matter how quietly I play, for some reason, the big wooden box with strings makes them anxious.

Also… and this is harder… I have lost a great deal of the tonal quality of my voice. “That shouldn’t matter!” I hear you protest. No really, it does matter. Singing now… is often heartbreaking. As we age, our voices lower and we lose the elasticity in our tissue, which means our vocal cords (which are actually flaps, not cords) cannot stretch the way they did when we were young. For me, this means that, while I may pick up my guitar and play an old tune, I may not be able to sing it.

Here's the truth: I learned to play the guitar when I was fifteen because singing brought me comfort at a time when I was clinically depressed. At that age, I was yet to realize how much of an emotional outlet writing can be. Singing was my form of self-expression, and when I was alone, which was often, I sang constantly. I learned to play not because I loved the guitar, but because I loved to sing. I still do. I sing to Jenny and Maya and Maudie constantly. But those are simple, silly songs. Not my old classics—“Sunrise, Sunset.” “El Shaddai.” “Danny Boy.” “Suzanne.” So many Peter, Paul, and Mary songs. So many Dylan songs. On rare occasions I will listen to the professional CD I made in 1982, and I am astounded at the quality of my voice back then. If I had known that I would one day lose it…. Sigh….

Therefore... I just haven’t been playing the little mahogany acoustic guitar I so happily purchased when I retired. I had so many hopes and dreams then…. Well, some of them have come to fruition. Maybe if I play my guitar every day and gently push those vocal flaps into doing some calisthenics, I will come a bit closer to what I was once capable of. (Calisthenics: from the Greek: kallos, meaning beauty and sthenos, meaning strength.) At the very least, I will regain the callouses on my fingers from chording.

That’s it. Just those two resolutions. So… meet me here again in two weeks. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go play my guitar.