Sylvia's 2014 Retrospective

By the time this column is read, if indeed it is, another Christmas Day will have passed. Children will be playing with or breaking new toys. Thumbs of slightly older youngsters, of all ages, will be flying over keys of new smart phones. The strange spelling of their texts appearing on screens of their friends' phones faster than Santa disappearing over the rooftops.

The countdown will have begun to the beginning of another year. I think we all hope that 2015 will bring better things, though few may expect that hope to manifest. Television networks used to broadcast retrospectives of important events of the year just past on New Year's Eve. Whether they still do or not I won't know since I cut the cord of cable and satellite TV reception. Surprisingly, after having lived almost my whole (long) life with television as a constant, I have missed it very little.

So I'll do my own retrospective. In many ways this has been a sad year for me. The deaths of friends sounded a refrain of my own mortality. Death of a friend's husband reminded me that the coming January will mark four years since I lost my own husband of over fifty years. And just before Thanksgiving the loss of my youngest brother's wife at a much too young age was a blow.

 A close family. A member of my immediate family went through the trauma endemic to these times, divorce. The disruption has been hard on my adored great grandsons, even with all working to create a smooth transition. I trust that the power of unconditional love will heal any damage to their precious spirits. This is the gift we yearn to find during the Christmas season. Would that we all found much of that healing to take as our 'shield and buckler' in the New Year.

But the year brought good things to me also. A successful year as leader of a writing group. The continued presence of many long-time great friends. A long-sought book contract with a traditional publisher. These are the things I hope to build on and make 2015 a good year. May it be so for all who might read this.