The New Years Resolutions

The clock was ticking.

Closer and closer, inching toward the end of the year. The second hand seemed to move faster every time I looked at it, dashing from five minutes to three minutes to one.

One minute until the sparklers erupted into light, the balloons flew into the air as people cheered and kissed and danced at that final chime of the clock.

Celebrated triumph and joy and laughter echoing into the starry night sky. Celebrated friendships and love, new and old, redemption and forgiveness and gratefulness for others.

Celebrated another year, where things changed.

Could be good things, could be bad things. Could be that morally gray space between black and white.

But still, they changed.

I looked up from the list to the clock, then back to the smudged paper that had been scribbled on and crumpled up over and over for the past year.

Time to see if I had completed any New Years Resolutions from last year.

If I changed anything important.

It would probably be the same as last year, and the one before: nothing.

I needed to make them easier to achieve, really.

But it didn't hurt to read them over again, seeing the familiar messy cursive I used a year ago. I had since upgraded to even messier cursive.

The list was short, sweet and to the point.

First Resolution: Go on a blind date.

"Honey," a voice called from the kitchen, my wife rounding the corner and leaning on the doorway. "Don't you want to come celebrate?"

I smiled, my eyes drawn to the sparkling wedding ring on her hand. One that I put there, barring a few minor mistakes of it falling out of my pocket and landing in her champagne glass.

"I'll be there in a minute."

I didn't go on a blind date.

We met over an incident involving me running into her car with a bicycle, a daredevil squirrel, and a screaming lady swerving her car in my direction.

I apologized, she shouted, the lady didn't stop screaming, and it blossomed into a new friendship.

Which grew into affection and fondness.

Which sprouted a seed of love.

A love story for the ages.

But still, a no on that one.

I was supposed to go one a blind date, not fall in love.

Second Resolution: Earn money with a reliable job.

Well, I did work as a secretary at my wife's office, where she was the CEO of a major music company. But music statistics are always dropping and sky-rocketing, so that's not very reliable.

And while I did earn a satisfactory wage, my job was mostly distracting kids during meetings with caramels and old stuffed animals, sorting the dozens of letters and files sent to my wife's email, and making her favorite coffee every morning just the way she likes it.

Black as her soul- which was as black as a glass of milk- with a shot of caramel and as much cream I could squeeze out of the already-starved bottle.

So, that was a no for that one as well. Unreliable job, and I did barely anything for her.

Third Resolution: Find a new hobby.

Hmmm... that was a tough one.

I had taken up doing the taxes in our house, working on all of our finances and what we could spend, and saving up all the extra change we had. Eventually all of that money would grow into a manageable sum, and I used it to makeover some part of our fixer-upper style house.

The spiral staircase leading to the second floor, the stained glass window in the dining room, the shed for my woodworking station. I even made a loft in the living room for my wife, filled with stringed lights and beanbags to snuggle on.

I enjoyed it, the math and statistics, the creativity and the growth of our house. It was useful, since my dear wife had little experience in the math department.

However... doing the taxes isn't a hobby.

I hadn't completed that resolution either.

Fourth Resolution: Get back in contact with my brother.

I sighed when I spotted that one, glancing at the star mounted on our kitchen wall next to a collection of family pictures.

My brother died in service nearly a year ago, only three days after the last New Years Eve. It was a heartbreaking letter to receive, a handwritten letter from my mother explaining why she had contacted me after all these years.

I went to the funeral. Everyone was there, but no one objected to me coming to mourn his death. Not even my father, who had been the one to disown me in the first place.

But grieving turned to fondness when remembering my family, and eventually I started talking to my other family members. We now came together every month for a reunion dinner.

I had even hosted this month, due to my wife's peer pressure, so they were currently in my living room. Complimenting my artwork, gushing over the freshly-trimmed roses, oohing and aahing the dinner my wife made.

I was with my family.

But I had never talked to my brother again.

So I hadn't completed that resolution either.

Fifth Resolution: Be happy.

I looked around, at the house we had built up from the ashes, at the smiling faces on pictures and worn-in couches filled with memories of laughter and love.

I looked down at the tiny child cradled in my other arm, her hazel eyes nearly impossible to see through the tangles of blond ringlets.

I was happy.

Not all the time, of course.

There were sad memories of tears and depression in those couches, pictures of solemn faces and black clothing. There were chips in the paint, scratches on the dining room table, fraying in the woolen blankets my baby was wrapped in.

There was a mix of memories, joyful and saddening, love and loss.

But still, I wasn't always happy.

Just most of the time.

So I guess I didn't fulfill my New Years revolutions after all.