Taking on the New Year

By Patti Parish-Kaminski, Publisher

Coping with 2023 the best way I know how – one glass at a time.

Rough.  That is the only word I can use to describe the first few days of 2023:  Rough.  Buck Owens used to sing a little ditty on Hee Haw with Roy Clark.  And yes, I understand that if you are under the age of 35, you likely have no idea what I’m talking about.  Google it.

The song was called Gloom, Despair and Agony on Me. The four-line ditty contained the following lyrical gem: “If it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.”  That basically sums up the start of my new year, and I’ve got to tell you, I am not here for it.

Last week on the porch I had a talk with Texas for murdering every living thing in my yard for no good reason.  My gardenias did nothing to Texas, but nonetheless, the tumultuous Texas temperature brutally murdered them.  This week, 2023, you’re up.  Pull up a chair and get comfortable, because you and I have issues.  One of us will come out of this conversation unscathed.  Here’s a little hint:  It won’t be you.

First off, for some Godforsaken reason, you have caused everyone in 2023 to lose their ever-lovin’ mind.  Reasonable requests, sound decisions and basic manners apparently dropped when the ball dropped in Times Square.  And they not only dropped, they shattered into a gazillion pieces.  What on earth?  Is Mercury in constant retrograde?  Is El Nino partnering up with La Nina to create a world-wide state of menopause?  I don’t know what it is, but chaos has ensued in my world since midnight December 31st, and 2023, it stops – NOW.

Case and point:  The lights are continuously flickering in my bathroom, and no, I did not set my hot rollers on fire – again.  That was a one-time event because said rollers were hold outs from the 80s.  I learned my lesson, and in my defense, it was a very small fire.

My garage door will not close.  It goes up and down like a roller coaster, and no, I did not run into the garage with a vehicle – again.  Baby boy affixed a tennis ball strategically suspended from the ceiling in line with Bonita’s hood ornament, so I now know when to stop.  It’s a handy little thing.  And Mr. Kaminski reinforced the stopping point with two well-placed bricks where Bonita’s tires should stop.  It all works just fine, so this time, it’s not me.  Poor Bonita is exposed to the elements, as is my hair when coming and going from the house.  It’s not a good look for either of us.

Everybody wants everything – yesterday – or the day before.  Now I’m a deadline-oriented girl.  It’s my nature.  But this is getting out of hand.  I’ve spent many mornings until 3 am working, and at this point, I don’t know if I’m washing or hanging out.

I haven’t unpacked my suitcases from my holiday trek out west, I’m wearing the same clothes over and over because they are handy, my Christmas tree is still up and there is not an ounce of food in my house.  My beloved Sandra mercifully cleaned out both the fridge and pantry while I was gone.  Apparently, most of our food supply expired months ago.  And frankly, everything looks so nice and clean, I really hate to clutter it up again with something like, well, food.  Not to mention I can’t even fathom a shopping excursion for a copious supply of staples.  I’m just not up for it.  Priorities.

Racing to a meeting the other morning, Bonita started sputtering and acting up.  She was out of gas.  I have never in my entire life run out of gas – ever.  I haven’t been able to see clearly in two weeks wearing glasses that are several years old, because contacts are a no go per the doctor right now.  That might have something to do with the whole “out of gas” situation.  It’s enough to wear a girl out.

By the grace of God, the 290 Wine Castle did deliver my wine order this week, or I would be in a real fix.  So, I guess I haven’t had all bad luck, but it was only four bottles, and most of it is already gone.

I’m only 12 days into 2023, and we’re just not getting along.  Starting today, I’m putting the new year in a big time out.  You are going to have to get yourself together, 2023, and get right, because you are on my very last nerve.  I will keep dating my correspondence 2022 if you don’t behave, or I may just jump ahead to 2024, because I will not keep putting up with your nonsense.  See y’all next week – on the porch!

Patti Parish-Kaminski

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