So, let's consider December "captured," and move on shall we? The whole thing went swimmingly until our house guests arrived. I had every intention of blogging my way beyond the Mayan apocalypse and into 2013, but intentions met real life and real life won.
I'm hoping to do better.
I've never been much for resolutions, and for a while there I had some kind of a well-thought out or at least heavily-emoted argument against New Year's resolutions, but I guess even my resolve not to resolve wore thin.
This year, I have one very small, very achievable goal (okay, one that I'm willing to name publicly and actively pursue — I'd obviously love to be healthy, organized & punctual):
in 2013, I'm going to read more fiction.
So far, the pile on my nightstand reads thusly:
Ann Packer's The Dive from Clausen's Pier (started last night and so far: too much description of what people are wearing),
Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go (thrifted and paid for by the pound),
Wendell Berry's That Distant Land (I was so spoiled at Christmas. Also, I just read my first Port William novel this fall, and I am IN) and
Alice Munro's latest, Dear Love (another very much loved Christmas gift. Also, is it possible to read Alice Munro in the summer? I'd never even try).