In five days and 8 hours from now, the clock will strike 12. The timepiece on all things digital will roll over to 2022. Broadcast stations will switch from playing What are you doing New Year’s, New Year’s Eve? to Auld Lang Syne. And I’ll be doing the same darn thing I did last New Year’s Eve –sitting at home cursing COVID.
Do you ever wonder why when you have the choice of going out someplace and choose not to go, you’re okay with your decision, but when things beyond your control restrict you from going out, it pisses you off? That’s my dilemma again this year.
So I know where I’ll likely be on New Year’s Eve. At home, wearing lounge PJs. And since my Boo and I are teetotalers, we will open a bottle of sparkling cider, toast to the upcoming year with the hope that it will be free of COVID and all of its variants, and watch the ball drop on CNN. And while the Times Square crowd is singing Auld Lang Syne, I’ll be singing Auld Lame Syne thanks to COVID.
I know what I won’t be doing. I won’t be making Resolutions. I never do. Lightbulb moment! I could do some creative writing. Do I sense eye-rolling? Maybe I’ll write about books I’ve read this year. At least two dozen of them were completed. Others failed to hold my interest and were set aside.
That’s it. Maybe I’ll write the revelations of a bookworm and explain that I prefer reading non-fiction but have accumulated a variety of genres in my library — hardcovers and audibles — over the years.
I’ll share that the best book I read this year was Perfect Peace by Daniel Black. I agree with Goodreads description of it as “The heartbreaking portrait of a large, rural southern family’s attempt to grapple with their mother’s desperate decision to make her newborn son into the daughter she will never have.”
Last night, I finished Breath: The Science of a Lost Art by James Nestor. In short, that book describes how breathing affects our body and how controlled breathing can help eliminate some illnesses and other physical ailments. I imagine that cynics reading this are satirically thinking, “If we don’t breathe, we die; end of story.”
Months ago, when I first heard about Breath, I had the same thought. After reading it, I discovered that it was way beyond my expectations. I’m not going to promote the book, nor will I devalue it. But I will say that I found it to be thought-provoking.
As much as I enjoy a good book, I admire the people who write them.
As every novice knows, if you want to become a pro, you must associate with and learn from them. I feel fortunate to count among my dearest friends authors like Alexander Reed Lajoux. She has written and co-written a slew of books available on Amazon, and she was kind enough to write the forward for Legacy.
Another friend and a former employer, publisher LaVern Gill gave me my first chance to write regular columns in her award-winning weekly newspaper. She too has books to her credit including, “African American Women in Congress,” published in 1997.
I will forever treasure the copy she gave me with the following inscription. To Loretta. How wonderful it is to have a friend like you, a writer with good and great ideas, a wonderful compassion for words and a gift for crafting those words in such a way as to give life and meaning. The best to you and keep writing & writing & writing. Love, LaVerne.
Years ago, I suppose I was a groupie. I chased authors at every opportunity and got a few copies of my books signed, like Bloods, a national bestseller about Black servicemen in the Vietnam War. Not only did I take off half-day from my job to go to author Wallace Terry’s book signing at the Dr. Martin Luther King Library, but some years later, I worked on a job across the hall from one of Terry’s daughters. She was as amiable as her dad. Talk about a small world.
One year, decades ago, I got an autograph from Nikki Giovanni. I had been a huge fan of hers since I read her first poems and even named my newborn daughter after her. On separate occasions, I met esteemed author and photographer Gordan Parks and playwright August Wilson. Little did any of those literary geniuses know that while we were meeting and greeting each other with a firm shake, I was hoping that I could siphon some of their writing intellect.
It looks like that’s what I’ll be doing this New Year’s Eve — reading, maybe a little writing, and much reminiscing about pre-COVID years.
In the meantime, I am wishing for all of my readers, happiness, health, joy, and love in 2022.
Happy New Year!!!