Happy 2016, kittens! Welcome to Rhapsody’s First Annual, Never-To-Be-Repeated, Second-Chance New Year Spectacular, in which we bid farewell not only to the preceding year, but to the already busted resolutions of three weeks ago.
It’s all right friends: Rhapsody is here to freshen your drink, and your self-esteem with a totally new approach. At today’s gathering, we’ll grant ourselves a second chance to enjoy 2016, not just sand it away grimly, day by earnest day, with “goals” and “challenges.”
True, there are some who are still pumping away on their elliptical trainers, scaling the imaginary hills of self-improvement, but I don’t like those people and neither do you, so let’s leave them to their step-counting and do something that’s actually fun, shall we?
Participation is simple. Just choose one healthy, worthwhile, life-affirming activity—any thigh-firming, mind-sharpening notion you like—and do it with enthusiasm, just once.
Then, do not do it again until at least January of 2017.
Once you have selected your activity, you can share it with the whole salon, using that dry-erase board over the bar (otherwise known as the comment section). Or, if you prefer to keep these things to yourself, write it down on a slip of paper and toss it into the roaring fire, as we did in the first Rhapsody new year’s post.
“Begin as you mean to go on,” I once said, so very wisely.
And that’s it! You are now free to enjoy the rest of your year—and quite possibly the rest of your life.
Some of you appear fretful, but listen: It’s exactly how your resolutions were going to work out anyway, but now, instead of feeling defeated before President’s Day, you can enjoy a brief sizzle of accomplishment while your crappy resolutions burn and I pour you another Champagne Fizz.
I’ve already finished my once-only resolution, which was to walk around the block at a heart-pumping pace, swinging my arms vigorously and doing a crossword puzzle. This improves the memory and encourages greater firing of neurons between the right and left hemispheres of the brain.
By doing this just once, really fast, the right and left halves of my brain have actually switched places and I am done for the year. Viola!
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Before we go, there is one Rhapsody resolution from 2015 that bears mention, because I will be returning to it in salon gatherings later this year (see Rhapsody’s Burning Resolution # 1 to “post lots from now on”).
It’s my all-weather, rodent-proof, holier-than-thou composting project in the backyard. See it there, next to the garden shed, hulking there unobtrusively in my Mock Rock garden?
Early in 2015 I informed my family that, health concerns be damned, I was going to save all of our kitchen scraps in a bucket under the sink and then ferment them in the backyard, right next to the spot where our neighbors used to enjoy sunbathing and outdoor entertaining.
And by God, I did. That thing is full of black gold—or very nearly. Right now it is actually full of slick clumps of wastes so foul smelling I think the neighbors have actually put their house on the market, but it makes me feel righteous just to look out the window and know that yesterday’s carrot peels are inside the tumbler, cavorting lustily with meat scraps and shredded cardboard.
My dear Mr. Roboto is still reaching the point where he is able to admit to himself that this was a great idea. I’m not rushing him. He’s an engineer after all, and can’t even look at a wheel without suggesting some way it might be reinvented and attract greater interest from angel investors.
But marriage is about patience, my dears, and letting your partner come around to seeing things your way in his own good time. Special perseverance may be needed when the subject at hand involves the amalgamation of pasta, human hair and part of a raccoon’s tail.*
*actual items I put in the composter.
Stop gagging—I’m about to get to the point, which is this: The composter came in very handy in dealing with another smarting disappointment of the New Year, this time for the children.
Brioche and Tannery were devastated when Santa failed to come through on his offer to bring them a puppy (thanks an f’ing lot, Mall Santa) but I was able to comfort them by pointing out that Mommy had provided something even better: their very own backyard maggot farm!
Imagine the wonder on their pinched little faces when I gave them each a handful of coffee grounds and invited them to run outside and experience the wonder of aerobic decomposition.
Who’s ready for snacks?
Prizes for the first three people to share their once-only resolution activity. I haven’t got any idea what the prizes might be, but am open to suggestion.
Join us next week—or six months from now, more likely—when I chronicle our family’s move to the year 1950 and the Monsanto House of Tomorrow.