A few years ago, I opened a book and out fell my New Year’s Resolutions from decades past.   I looked at it and laughed.  I was getting ready to write many of the same resolutions all over again.  The funniest—because I have now deemed it impossible to achieve unless I was critically ill, was to “weigh an honest 115 pounds.”  Those days are long gone; given up as a lie even on my driver’s license.  All the other things on the list were similarly honorable aspirations, especially, “pay more attention to my husband.” He says he is still waiting for the “Year of THE MAN,” pointing to himself, of course.

My sister Shelley, the pragmatic type, laughed when I told her about my discovery. (more…)