can we get a do-over on 2020?

for several years, i've bought arctic paper's lovely calendar. one year, i think it was 2018, i actually wrote a little snippet of my day in it every single day of that year, keeping a kind of diary, though it was mostly lists and trips and what i did that day, not anything deep or philosophical. still, it was the record of a busy life. i did write intentions for every week on the page for the week, which felt like a meaningful practice, even if i didn't always keep them. it featured beautiful paper that explored the changing light and colors throughout the year, so it had a kind of rainbow theme to it. the words at the beginning were a beautiful musing on time. "time is months, weeks, hours, minutes and seconds. time is seasons. seasons are light. light is a guide through time." it was so fitting for a calendar.

they work with different design schools around europe and have young people design the calendars and they're always printed on arctic paper's own beautiful papers. it's a pleasure to page through them and write in them. this year's was no different. it is a moon-themed agenda entitled "the day begins at midnight" and was designed by students from école estienne's graphic design and art direction students. i assume that's somewhere in france.

it's really gorgeous and i love the words at the beginning, especially since i always consider myself a night person, not a morning one...(capital letters removed by me):

the day begins at midnight, when creativity knows no boundaries.
more than an aesthetically attractive calendar,
we wanted to design something that makes us challenge
our traditional perception of time and creativity.
by visually highlighting night-time in imagery
through its content, this agenda wants us to reconsider 
our notion of the day.

because extraordinary things happen in our minds at night.
we know our subconscious is active when we sleep.
and we know that some people need to relax simply
to get their ideas flowing. some even find that they are
more creative at night, whether asleep or awake
creativity knows no boundaries, not in place, nor in time.

but here, as we embark on the second to last month of 2020, which has already been pretty eventful, i find i must admit that i never used this calendar at all. i didn't write a single thing in it. it's still pristine and beautiful - blank and awaiting words or drawings or doodles, the recording of a life. and i didn't record a single word of this crazy, mad year. it's almost like this clean, beautiful calendar represents a pristine do-over of 2020, just waiting to happen. 2020, between the covers of this journal, is unblemished, unmarred by oafish, spray-tanned, clownish, embarrassing presidents, and deadly viruses, and killer hornets. it's full of potential trips to exotic places, new experiences and even scratched-down notes of wonderful meals made and eaten, friends seen, laughs laughed. in its very blankness, it's full of potential. potential for a do-over of this mad, terrible year. maybe that's what we most need right here and now. or maybe we just need this damn year to be over already. 

i'll order a new calendar from arctic paper when they release it in a few weeks. and let's cross our fingers that things get better in 2021.

april snow

i was so dismayed yesterday as i drove into a small patch of snow flurries, just as i got near our new house. i was going to pick up the keys and drop off a few things. it seemed like a bad omen, that snow.

the house, now empty, seems forlorn. and i had another of those awful moments of the Enormity of the Project. since the first look at this house, we've been looking beyond what's there and concentrating on what we see in our minds - focusing on the potential and not the reality. but now that it's empty that reality is even more stark - sagging wallpaper, greying paint on the walls, low ceilings, the most awful silly putty color of paint on the kitchen cupboards (seriously unappetizing), i could go on and on. we have a five-year-plan for what we want to do with it, but five years is five years and we will live in it in the meantime. and that's just how it is.

but even more overwhelming was a sense of sorrow hanging over the house. the family we're buying it from is moving because their dreams and hopes didn't turn out as they planned and it had become a place they associated with those broken dreams. although i know this doesn't mean it will be a sorrowful place for us, that sadness is hanging there in the air. and it was very nearly physically palpable yesterday when i stopped by in the sudden snowstorm. 

i can tell you that next week, although we're not going to paint and fix everything (those pink cupboards have got to go), i can't wait to open all of the windows and let in fresh air and sunshine. fresh air and sunshine should go a long way towards chasing the sadness away, but some friends have suggested a ceremonial exorcism cleansing and i may actually have to do something along those lines. we have to chase out the previous sadness and replace it with our energy and happiness. and while i feel confident we can do that, things were looking a little blurry there for awhile in yesterday's april snow.