I divide all readers into two classes; those who read to remember and those who read to forget. —William Lyon Phelps

Was anyone else ready to put 2016 to bed?  While I’m normally a sunny girl, Prince and Bowie dying prematurely was pretty heavy.  (If I were a closet George Michael fan, and I’m not saying that I am, that just added insult to injury.) Ali, the greatest, is floatin’ like a butterfly; lawdy, I hope Arnie is nearby. The election was sobering. The aftermath was alarming. Not to mention my sweet mother is struggling with heart health issues. And Rachel’s seriously loveable dog probably has cancer.  That’s a lot for tip-of- the-iceberg stuff, isn’t it? 

Glad you’re here 2017.  I’ve made a few goals because my older self recognizes that I get too ambitious sometimes.  I have yet to set a reading goal for the new year new me.  A close friend of mine, who is as smart as she is kind, decided she was going to read/listen to 100 books this time last year.  As in one zero zero!  She hit the century mark before the ball dropped in Times Square.  But she said she’d probably never attempt it again—too much melted together.  My aging brain immediately understood.  

When asked which of the 100 she loved most, naturally, she had to think about it. With confidence, she eventually answered, "The Great Bridge.”  I had no idea master historian David McCullough spun a dramatic story about the building of the Brooklyn Bridge.  How could I have missed it? Another keeper for my master list. While I haven’t landed on a numeric goal yet, I am going to carve out more time for stories this year. If I’m being honest, stories offset the tip-of-the-iceberg stuff—they may even make me feel a bit like the unsinkable Molly Brown. 

Posted by Tracy