Careful what you wish for . . .

“Twas a month after Christmas . . .

They all know. My family.

I wish for an all-family reunion at least once a year.

Miraculously, it happens again and again.

This year, the clan—relatives from the Outer Banks, Brooklyn, Washington, Oregon, and nearby Valley Center—gathered in San Diego over the Christmas and New Year’s holiday with three full-family happenings and mini-family get-togethers sprinkled throughout the week. Two birthday parties, Christmas Eve, Christmas morning and evening, New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day. Eighteen rambunctious adults and three adorable little ones—the oldest two years old. Twenty-one—nuclear family, extended family, and one soon-to-be-family member, the burly and beefy significant-other of granddaughter-number-four-firefighter.

There arose such a clatter.

We were enveloped in the pine, cranberry, and orange scents of candles, evergreen garlands and wreaths, and a brightly lit Christmas tree.

Stockings hung by the chimney, gifts—stack packs, surprises, and sentimental offerings—and an assortment of delectable sugar plum goodies filled the gathering spots.

Singing, feasting, board games, hiking, bocci ball, football, horse-back riding, hilarity, story-telling, and memory-matching crammed each day’s agenda.

I do find it compelling that none of my children or I recall things in our shared history the way the other does . . .

Also, a startling number of diapers this holiday season.

The activity level paralleled the noise level from dawn to dusk. A radical departure for one living alone.

Okay, occasionally alone.

Just when I started to erupt, silently begging, Dash away, dash away, dash away all, it ended.

They cleaned up.

They packed their suitcases, carry-ons, and backpacks, stuffed new treasures into already stuffed spaces, sprang to their various airlines—Breeze, American, Southwest—and all flew away.

The silence startled me.

The stillness frightened me.

I sat for hours.

My sparkle had been extinguished.

My energy left the house.

My sunny disposition clouded over.

Not feeling lively and quick.

Late in the day, I resurfaced strolling through the empty rooms of 215. I imagined my home felt much the same way I did.

The remains—a long white sock hanging precariously on a wastebasket.

After several recovery days which included long naps and zero screen time, I began to feel my energy return. My disposition grew sunny once more and, in a twinkling, I felt my sparkle once more!

A new year began, and I found myself ready to take on 2026. Late to making my New Year’s resolutions—like the middle of January late! —I settled myself with a cup of coffee laced with brown-sugar flavored almond milk creamer, a pen and paper, and dove in with eagerness and determination.

I titled the page New Year’s Resolutions, 2026 and added my name.

Ideas had been swirling around in my befuddled head since before Christmas.

I needed to focus.

I began.

I did my best to be specific. “Text each grandchild weekly.”

Instead of walking three times a week, I wrote “walk 10,000 steps three times a week; hike once a week; two casual strolls a week.

I could have written “read more.” Instead, I wrote “read thirty books this year.”

I wrote “buy more locally—less Amazon.” That’s pretty darn specific, right?

My resolutions are new and different this year for the most part. Except for one.

My number one New Year’s resolution—again this year?

Arrange for an all-family reunion.

The grown children and their spouses.

Their children and mates.

And these children’s adorable little babies.

Minimum one.

When I first became a grandmother, I read, “It’s the grandmother’s job to keep the cousins together. This keeps the family connected.”

I take this seriously.

An all-family reunion this year. Minimum one. Maybe this summer?

In spite of myself.

Then...

and now.

 Happy New Year y'all. Let's make it a great one!