I can’t think of a better way to end this year’s blog than with Amanda Gorman’s new poem, “New Day’s Lyric.” It couldn’t be more of the time we are now and hopeful for the future. Enjoy your New Year’s Eve. I’ll be back tomorrow with year five of 365.

‘New Day’s Lyric’ by Amanda Gorman

May this be the day

We come together.

Mourning, we come to mend, 

Withered, we come to weather,

Torn, we come to tend,

Battered, we come to better. 

Tethered by this year of yearning,

We are learning

That though we weren’t ready for this, 

We have been readied by it.

Steadily we vow that no matter

How we are weighed down,

We must always pave a way forward.

This hope is our door, our portal.

Even if we never get back to normal, 

Someday we can venture beyond it,

To leave the known and take the first steps. 

So let us not return to what was normal, 

But reach toward what is next.

What was cursed, we will cure.

What was plagued, we will prove pure.

Where we tend to argue, we will try to agree,

Those fortunes we forswore, now the future we foresee, 

Where we weren’t aware, we’re now awake;

Those moments we missed

Are now these moments we make,

The moments we meet,

And our hearts, once all together beaten,

Now all together beat.

Come, look up with kindness yet,

For even solace can be sourced from sorrow. 

We remember, not just for the sake of yesterday, 

But to take on tomorrow.

We heed this old spirit,

In a new day’s lyric,

In our hearts, we hear it:

For auld lang syne, my dear, 

For auld lang syne.

Be bold, sang Time this year, 

Be bold, sang Time,

For when you honor yesterday, 

Tomorrow ye will find.

Know what we’ve fought

Need not be forgot nor for none.

It defines us, binds us as one, 

Come over, join this day just begun. 

For wherever we come together, 

We will forever overcome.

End

I wholeheartedly believe this.

We went to a family Christmas party Monday and I’m recovering from a people hangover. It was so people-y. Just so many people. And loud.

This is me as Jane Jetson.

Back in the day, I was a babysitter extraordinaire. Stories with voices acted out. Crafts. Teaching the fundamentals of music appreciation.

If I were a babysitter: now:

We drove from Houston to the Northshore of the New Orleans today and people are jerks on the road, man.

Today started my week of seeing and visiting lots of family. Two different cities, both sides of the families. It’s stressful. I don’t want to be reserved around some people because the real me is a bit much for some people. If I’m too much, I don’t care. I’m not for everyone. But I am for those who love me.

Take what you need.

By @Keeleyshawart.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas, Dear Readers. Love yo all of you.

Examine what is truly important.

Every Christmas Eve I watch The Bishop’s Wife (1947). It’s my favorite Christmas movie and it’s probably in my top 10. I put it on after Every one has gone to bed and I fill the stockings (by the chimney with care). I post the speech (it’s less of a sermon) that the bishop gives at the end if the film, but I’ve never given the actual synopsis, so here’s a good synopsis from Letterboxd.

An Episcopal Bishop, Henry Brougham, has been working for months on the plans for an elaborate new cathedral which he hopes will be paid for primarily by a wealthy, stubborn widow. He is losing sight of his family and of why he became a churchman in the first place. Enter Dudley, an angel sent to help him. Dudley does help everyone he meets, but not necessarily in the way they would have preferred. With the exception of Henry, everyone loves him, but Henry begins to believe that Dudley is there to replace him, both at work and in his family’s affections, as Christmas approaches.

But is so much more than that. Cary Grant, David Niven, and Loretta Young give a masterclass on what it is to be human (even though Grant plays an angel). It just happens to take place at Christmas.

This is the speech given by the bishop from the pulpit at the end of the film. Enjoy and think about the words.

Tonight I want to tell you the story of an empty stocking.

Once upon a midnight clear, there was a child’s cry, a blazing star hung over a stable, and wise men came with birthday gifts. We haven’t forgotten that night down the centuries. We celebrate it with stars on Christmas trees, with the sound of bells, and with gifts.

But especially with gifts. You give me a book, I give you a tie. Aunt Martha has always wanted an orange squeezer and Uncle Henry can do with a new pipe. For we forget nobody, adult or child. All the stockings are filled, all that is, except one. And we have even forgotten to hang it up. The stocking for the child born in a manger. Its his birthday we’re celebrating. Don’t let us ever forget that.

Let us ask ourselves what He would wish for most. And then, let each put in his share, loving kindness, warm hearts, and a stretched out hand of tolerance. All the shinning gifts that make peace on earth.

I got a lot of problems with you people!

Get those grievances out before you see your family this weekend. Go ahead and get those feelings out on paper or to yourself or therapist or friends so you can tolerate those relatives. Yes, I said tolerate. And love, yes, plenty of love. Like, ok, like. We like them. Sometimes.