The cherry blossoms that had brazenly bloomed their delicate pink blossoms in late December were shriveled, brown and dripping with melted snow as we heralded in 2022. The hydrangeas’ fresh buds, plump atop sturdy silvery canes, strained boldly against the few remaining snow crystals in our shaded backyard as the clock struck midnight on a brand new year. The triumphs and follies of 2021 were securely in the past, however the seeds we sowed and the packages we ordered continue to pop up day by day. As we sit in this space of wintertime, on the cusp of spring, it is a natural time for reflections and reviewing those intrepid New Years resolutions. What do we wish to plant and reap in 2022?

Ample time has passed since Auld Lang Syne was sung, to tick off all the tangible resolutions on our list – new underwear, new running shoes, addressing the ubiquitous holes left by our electrical rewiring project of last summer… Now, as February and the threats of last dustings of snow concluded with it, winter is beginning to feel like a distant dream. Spurts of spring air waft by, thick with birdsong, reminding us of the promises of the New Year’s emancipated fresh start. The last real and generous opportunity for setting New Years resolutions with deep meaning rounds the corner like a raven- looking me straight in the face and unblinkingly holds my gaze.

Is it still valuable to set resolutions and intentions when we may bring ourselves only to failure? Additionally, the best laid plans may be composed and then composted by fate or circumstance. I wonder if the gossamer-thin perception of control we have over our in our lives is, in fact, a facade. Even if, beyond the accumulation of wisdom with each passing year, I’m not able to direct the ultimate story of my life in any substantial way, I’m still driven to learn and grow, to better myself and my world. In quiet meditation, I set an intention to cultivate and harness the resiliency that is required to bloom again my buttery blossoms when my buds are laid low by snowstorm. The hopes and dreams of those pink cherry blossoms may have been dashed, but the tree as a whole inspires me as it carries on and blooms anew for the Ides of March.

Regardless of the creation or outcomes of any New Years resolutions, 2022 is already set to be a big year.

-This is the year Lady Kitty will really start talking. In the past months, she has already more than doubled her word count with the delightful addition of a few new nouns: Dada, Baby, house, Nana, Baba, Bro, nose, eye. Over the next three seasons, Lady Kitty will launch her communication to the next level. She can already carry on a pretty charming and delightful conversation using the words “hi,” “bye,” “thank you,” “Oh”, and “yea!” accompanied by darling inflection and facial expressions.

-According to the Washington State Department of Health, this is the year Lady Kitty will jump with both feet off the ground, draw circles and lines, us many questions, and tell us about her experiences. (I actually witnessed a singular episode of her stotting in the kitchen earlier this year!)

-This is the year Lake will inevitably start reading… with a bit of hard work all around!

-This will also be the year that the Covid pandemic will reconcile from a perpetual state of emergency to an endemic co-existence, shifting to some semblance of “new normal”.

-This is the year I settle solidly into my mid-forties of adult life. Perhaps that will bring about a recalibrated emotional maturity where I’m maintaining composure and steadfastness in the face of challenges and surprises… or perhaps merely a mid-life crisis is brewing. lol.

I gaze sidelong at my aquiline profile and try to keep my trials in perspective. If there’s anything I have learned from Covid in 2021, is that when the trappings fall away, the essence of what is important is connection: being together, being kind, and being present. And presently, file those taxes and make that Wall Doctor call!