By Angela Garwood
It’s 3.25pm and thanks to a dear friend, I’ve managed to get out of the school run. This is an excellent 2024 win already.
I’m extra thrilled because all I can hear is the heavy drumming of rain, and it appears to be about 9pm out there; simply abysmal. (Looking out of my window reminds me of scenes in Harry Potter, when it all goes eerily dark and gloomy just before the dementors descend.) A bleak January afternoon indeed.
While my friend battles school-run traffic collecting both her daughter and mine, I sit in the warm, sipping tea and accepting toffees from Leo’s M&S tin lorry (a Christmas gift he has not put down today.)
“Would you like another one mummy?!”
“Thank you darling, I’ve already had four but thank you.” I respond, peering down at the small pile I’ve accumulated.
At the time of writing, days into the New Year, we’ve yet to take down our Christmas decorations. We’re one of those families. The tree is a sad and sorry sight, lights no longer being switched on and already half-emptied of decorations, courtesy of Leo.
I took down 80% of the cards, but hesitated at the remaining few, telling myself that if I removed them, Christmas really would be over and it would very much be 2024. (I’m aware this makes little sense and will resolve to take the rest of the cards down tomorrow, like an adult.)
Thinking of removing our front-door wreath makes me wish we had some other non-Christmas wreath to replace it with. A “New Year” wreath? A “Spring is coming” wreath? Or just something light and fun.
The same goes for inside our home, where I now feel a need for fairy lights or maybe some hanging tissue pom-poms, to fill the void of Christmas decorative joy. Our dining room is going to look like a healing tent at Glastonbury. (Is it obvious I’ve never been inside a healing tent?)
Looking ahead to the rest of the year, I have once again opted out of the resolutions game. Instead, I have a short list of things I’d like to do more of this year:
Noting down the joys of the day: I read a Guardian article recently that mentioned the idea of documenting “one frivolous, quirky or downright strange thing that provokes joy” each day. This originally came from an essay collection The Book of Delights, by American poet Ross Gay.
Unlike a gratitude journal, where we tend to write similar things each time (though not to be taken for granted), this would be more focused on celebrating even the so-called smallest of things. A vibrant rosy, pink sky. Leftover takeaway curry. New socks complete with embroidered crabs.
Watching films: I struggle to sit through a two-hour film (are films getting longer?) The only way seems to be to drive to a nearby location, pay good money and sit in a darkened room where talking is frowned upon and even glancing down at your phone is a no-no. Maybe this year I’ll get to watch a film not made by Pixar. (Though they are excellent.)
Playing more games: Just because, fun is important. If anyone mentions Boggle I jump off my chair in excitement.
Finishing books before I start new ones: Self-explanatory.
Trying new recipes: I’m determined to bring something new to the old “What shall we have for dinner?” headache. And no, 2024 will not be the year of meal-planning. Whenever a friend cooks an impressive meal, I’ll ask, as if they are a magician “How did you make this?”, to which they reply, “Er, I used a recipe Ange.”
Angela blogs at The Colourful Kind
