Manic Hobgoblin's 2025 Resolutions

My inner Manic Hobgoblin lives in my head rent-free. He creates truly unhinged schemes that skate a thin line between lunacy and genius. Manic Hobgoblin doesn't like to sit still. He says he'll sleep when he's dead. For most of 2024, Manic Hobgoblin got stuck in a cycle of buying up distressed properties in areas on the verge of a comeback. This week I gently reminded him about New Year resolutions. He exited his cave-bunker, which has surprisingly good internet connection, just long enough to rattle off the following resolutions. 

1. Buy the Earth's Sun, and charge people money for using its light. Manic Hobgoblin Industries, LLC, just needs a few more investors to make this a reality. If you'd like to get in on the ground floor of this amazing opportunity, call 1-555-867-5309, where friendly operators will gladly record your social security number, bank account information, credit card numbers, name of your first pet, name of your favorite child and their birthday. (Editor's note: Do not call! This is a scam.)

2. Become a top-rated Peloton instructor with a cult-like following. Then actually start a cult. (Editor's note: Peloton class is fine. Cult is bad.)

3. Further measure the monetization of podcasts, such as recording if listeners skipped the advertisements, tracking actionable purchases from listeners via internet cookies, yum cookies, thereby making it nearly impossible for 95% of podcasters to break even on podcasts, much less make any income. (Editor's note: That's already happened. Dangit, Manic Hobgoblin, did you already do this in 2024, and added it to your 2025 resolutions for an easy checkmark?)

4. Take a hiking trip in Vermont during peak Autumn foliage color, making sure to sample maple syrup and Ben & Jerry's ice cream along the way. (Editor's note: Say less. Take me with you.)

5. Buy a modern mansion in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, in order to more easily stalk a certain former A-list celebrity who is rumored to have purchased a home there, and engineer a meet-cute at the local Illuminati clubhouse. (Editor's note: I'm not sure that your source is reliable. Also, the first rule of the Illuminati is, there is no Illuminati. That house is striking, though.)

Hahahahahahaha. Oh, Manic Hobgoblin, please seek mental health care.

My own plans for 2025 include a reading goal of 44 books, go hiking in Vermont during peak fall foliage, maybe move across the street into a fancy new apartment while we do major renovation of our sweet old house, and after we get settled back at our newly renovated sweet old house, adopt a new-to-us adult dog. I miss having a dog.

In 2024, I read 65 books, surpassing my goal of 40 books. I blame all the time I spend at the library, and the excellent library resources such as physical media, Hoopla, and Libby, for this overachievement. 

In 2024, Chad and I took a really challenging guided hiking trip through Acadia National Park. It was amazingly beautiful. I'm so proud of us for (mostly) keeping up with our (much) younger hiking trip companions. We also kayaked around Bar Harbor, Maine, which was a gorgeous adventure. I'll blog about it later here.

In 2024, we lost our sweet carport cat, Sabrina, and gained a rat problem within six months. Correlation? Causation? Some minor construction to seal off points of ingress, and some traps (sorry, rats, really sorry) took care of the rat problem. 

In 2024, we said goodbye to Chad's dad when the hospice nurse urged us to get there as soon as possible. On that unplanned trip we witnessed the aurora borealis during the solar storms in May. Checkmark.

Happy New Year. I wish you moments of happiness, moments of stillness, and moments of awe in 2025.

Sabrina: A Memorial

Sabrina (a.k.a. Mama Kitty) entered our lives via our sweet foundling cat, LB. (With permission, we humanely trapped LB from our neighbor's yard when he was a kitten.) We think Sabrina was LB's mom, thus the original name of Mama Kitty.  About a month after kidnapping, I mean adopting, LB, I reset the humane trap in hopes of catching his mama to get her spayed through a community cats program. For three nights leading up to the appointment, I would check the trap every few hours until around 2:00 AM. Chad would check the trap starting at 7:00 AM. On the last morning before the spay appointment, Chad woke me up early, and said we caught Mama Kitty. I threw on some clothes, loaded the trap with Mama Kitty into my car, and drove her to the appointment. Later that day, I picked up the cat, drove her home, and put her into a large dog crate outfitted with a small litter box, food, water and a blanket bed. Mama Kitty stayed with us for three nights in the house in her crate while she recovered from her surgery. She probably felt very scared and confused, but she ate a lot and healed well. On the fourth day after her surgery, Chad and I carried the whole crate over to the neighbor's yard, and with our neighbor's permission, released the cat back into her familiar home turf. She bolted wildly from the crate as soon as we opened the door. 

We didn't see Mama Kitty for a week after that. 

One evening, I spied Mama Kitty peeking around the end of our hedges. She ran off when she knew that I spotted her. I set some food and water in the spot where she had been. She didn't touch it. I tried again the next day to set out food and water for her. "Nope," she said. On the third day, I set out food and water again for her, and finally spied through the window as she ate. Every day thereafter, I moved the food and water bowls a bit closer to our carport. Mama Kitty made a slow migration up the driveway for her daily meals each evening around sunset. I would sometimes walk down to the neighbor's yard and call to her after I served her food, "Mama Kitty, dinner time." It took several months, but eventually, Mama Kitty would arrive in our carport around sunset, and wait under my car for her dinner service. Several weeks after that, I decided to pet her as she ate. Just three little pets on her head. She gave me a look as if to say, "I'll allow it, but don't get carried away." We slowly built trust and made progress, and eventually I introduced her to a brush. She loved brushing. It was her favorite thing ever. She would block the steps to the front door, until I sat down and brushed her for at least ten minutes each evening. Mama Kitty would walk around my feet, showing me which side to brush, or poking her face into the brush to make sure I got her cheeks and chin. We had a comfortable routine. 

Sometimes Sabrina showed me her tummy during brushing

I decided that she needed a better name than Mama Kitty. She was more than just a mom, she had her own sweet little soul and identity. We tried a few names including Tiny, Ladybug, and Ebony, but they just weren't right for her. I have always liked the name Sabrina, associating the name with the Audrey Hepburn movie, Sabrina the Teenage Witch television series, and a fun former coworker whom I liked. One evening as I brushed her, I tried the name Sabrina aloud, and she gave a slow blink of implied agreement. 

Over the years, eight in total with us, Sabrina amassed a collection of carport furnishings including a heating pad bed for cold nights, a raised cooling bed for hot days, and a raised little house with a front and back door so she could rest in shelter, and also escape any predators or harassment. We have spotted coyotes, foxes, neighbor dogs loose from their leashes, raccoons, and opossums at Sabrina's food and water bowls over the years.

Sabrina visiting her large son through the window

Sabrina ventured across the threshold of our home several times on her own accord, tentatively taking a few steps inside, sniffing the air, but she always turned tail and ran right back out. One cold night three years ago, when snow started coming down with alarming speed, Chad donned oven mitts and a protectively thick sweatshirt, and picked up Sabrina to bring her inside. Sabrina was mortally offended. She ran under our dining table and sat frozen in fear for hours. When she finally emerged from under the table, she meowed plaintively at me, then started trying to break through the front window to get back outside. The whole situation was so pitiful and awful, that I opened the front door for her, and let her slink back outside. When Sabrina was safely at the base of the front steps, she turned to look back at me, and telepathically said, "nice try, but no thank you." She got back on her heating pad in the carport, and stayed planted there.

Sabrina only scratched me a few times over the years: once harshly when I tried to pick her up, twice very gently when I brushed her the wrong way, once when I gave her parasite prevention drops on the back of her neck for the first time, and a few times gently on the back of my ankles when I tried to reenter our house without brushing her for long enough. Sabrina never bit me. 

Sabrina gained weight every winter looking like a velveteen bowling bowl. She lost weight every summer, no longer needing the insulation. Her body adjusted naturally for each season. Last summer she got so shockingly skinny, that I worried for her health. I thought it was the end for her. But when cooler weather finally arrived, she gained weight again, and seemed fine and healthy. 

The last time I saw Sabrina, on the night of March 10th, she laid down at my feet for brushing. I knew immediately that something was amiss. Usually she walked in quick little circles around my feet. But that night she was so lethargic. I put my hands gently into her fur searching for wounds, and found none. I turned on my phone flashlight to look for any signs of injury, but found none. I put my hand in the soft luxurious fur of her back, and urged myself to remember this feeling. I just knew that she was saying goodbye. After a few moments, she got to her feet, and ambled away from me. I hurried to bring more food back out to refill her bowl, but she was already gone by the time I returned. We haven't seen her again since that moment, not in person, and not on our multiple security cameras. 

Chad and I continued to put cat food and fresh water out for three days, to the delight of two raccoons and one opossum. Then we stopped. 

I have accepted that Sabrina likely knew her end was near. She gave me the absolute gift of a goodbye. For that I am incredibly grateful. Sabrina almost certainly took herself off to hide, and pass in peace. I miss her so much. A week after her departure, I sat on the front steps where I usually brushed her each evening, and cried. I have cried in the shower. I have cried while washing dishes. I tried very hard not to cry in public during my shifts at the library, or while shopping at the grocery store. I cried when I emailed our regular pet sitter to let her know not to put out food or water for Sabrina during our next trip. I cried typing this post. I will miss our sweet, brush-loving, carport-dwelling, semi-feral cat so much. 

Manic Hobgoblin's 2024 Resolutions

Cute pic of one of my cats, unrelated to this post.

Manic Hobgoblin (the unhinged, hyper-aspirational, hyper-achieving, status-obsessed, multi-hyphenate voice that sometimes lives in my head rent-free) formulated his 2024 resolutions last month. Unfortunately for Manic Hobgoblin, he claims that he was at a silent retreat without wifi, and could not communicate with me, his humble (and very reluctant) assistant, to post these resolutions until now. (I think he was actually in jail, or maybe filming a reality TV show, and they took his phone away from him.) Also, Manic Hobgoblin read a New York Times article about February actually being the best month for resolutions, so he figures now is the optimal time to release his 2024 resolutions. (I suspect he only read the headline, because when I asked him why February is the best month for resolutions, he gave zero reasons, and left the room while tapping on his smart watch as if late for a very important date.)

So, without further ado, but with grave reservations, and multiple implied disclaimers, here are Manic Hobgoblin's 2024 New Year Resolutions:

1. Trademark every marketing phrase he can think of. It's called passive income. When one of the phrases is used, the money will roll in. (Editor's note: Nope. Not how that works. The paperwork and fees to trademark phrases is a lot, and most applications for trademarks are denied. The lawyer's fees and time invested to then enforce those trademarks will also be a lot.)

2. Start a bunch of short term rentals in hot tourist destinations. Also passive income, because Manic Hobgoblin will charge the renters all sorts of fees, but make them fully clean the place, and prepare it for the next round of guests. (Editor's note: This will fail. Mortgage loan rates are pretty high now, and Manic Hobgoblin doesn't have enough liquid assets to buy properties with cash purchase. Short term rentals are in their flop era due to predatory and unscrupulous operators such as Manic Hobgoblin. Short term rentals are also a scourge to many otherwise quiet neighborhoods, and the general affordability of housing, so many cities and neighborhoods are stepping up rules, regulations, and enforcement against short term rentals. Manic Hobgoblin is too late to this game.)

3. Jazzercise! Twice a week. (Editor's note: This seems fine.)

4. Drink four gallons of water a day exclusively from limited edition Stanley tumblers. (Editor's note: That's too much water. Read about it on Web MD. We have too many YETI and KODI tumblers already. I'm not buying Stanley tumblers for Manic Hobgoblin.)

5. EGOT. (Editor's note: good luck with that.)

I hope that 2024 is a good year for all of us. Wash your hands. Be kind. Have compassion for your fellow Earthlings. 

I set a goal to read forty books, which is the closest I get to making annual resolutions. I might join Manic Hobgoblin at Jazzercise. Chad and I plan to hike and kayak at Acadia National Park later this year. Discuss your plans and goals amongst yourselves on your Google doc or your group chat.

Brief Summer Escape to Colorado

I'm deep in the throes of summer Seasonal Affective Disorder sapping my energy, and ramping up my electricity costs and anxiety levels. Though less common than winter Seasonal Affective Disorder, I assure you summer SAD is a thing. When you've endured record-breaking drought with temperatures over 100 degrees Fahrenheit for sixty plus days and counting,  you start to dread ANYTHING that means you need to leave a dark room with an air conditioning vent aimed at you and a tall ice-water nearby. This sense of dread very much includes getting into a hot car with hot seat belts and a hot steering wheel to travel from air conditioned space to air conditioned space. As I watch my plants wither and roast, my grass turn crunchy, and the drought restrictions grow, my large rain barrel is nearly dry just from keeping a few selected plants alive. 

Our electricity has gone out a few times this summer, and though it was only for thirty minutes or less each time, it inspired a terror in my soul. How does one stay cool when it's literally 105 degrees Fahrenheit outside, and the electricity goes out? Do I run a luke-warm bath and sit in it? Fun fact: there is no cold water coming out of our pipes this summer. I take most showers with only the "cold" water tap running, and that water runs warm. It's a depressing and desperate feeling that this awfully bright, hot, drought-plagued summer serves. 

Chad and I escaped Austin for a few days in Colorado to celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary in a much cooler climate. For those of you thinking 25th wedding anniversary must be a typo, we got married at ages twelve and fourteen respectively. We had to have a note from our parents for the Justice of the Peace to marry us. Hahahahahahahaha. But seriously, wear sunscreen, drink plenty of water, get regular exercise, and make sleep a priority. Your future self will thank you. I know, ugh, boring, and not the quick fix you want.

I sublimate my travel anxiety by researching and planning our trips heavily. I make reservations for flights, hotels, restaurants, and attractions months in advance. I book our pet sitters as soon as I know we're traveling, usually two to four months in advance. I wish I could be more impulsive and impromptu, but that's a recipe for disappointment for me personally. Plus, I love looking forward to all the stuff I planned. I'm glad I reserved so many things well in advance for this trip, because there were crowds everywhere we went.

Our first stop after arriving at the Denver airport, and picking up our rental car, was a pre-booked entry at the immersive art experience Convergence Station, a.k.a. Meow Wolf Denver. Chad and I went to Santa Fe's original Meow Wolf a few years ago, and loved the experience. We enjoy being surrounded by art in a choose-your-own-adventure exploration. There's such a joy in finding a hidden passage, or stumbling from magical environment to fantastical landscape, all in air-conditioned comfort with a well-planned narrative that one can choose to follow, or not. Convergence Station / Meow Wolf Denver created experiences and storylines quite different from Meow Wolf Santa Fe, while keeping the bar high for imagination and execution of the art installations. If you visit any of the Meow Wolf attractions, give yourself at least three hours to explore.

After Meow Wolf in Denver, we stopped in Boulder on our way to Estes Park. We drove around gawping at the oh-so-cute and charming Boulder shops and houses. I did some research on Atlas Obscura before our trip and found Boulder Dushanbe Tea House, where I booked a dinner reservation well in advance. It is such a unique and beautiful space. According to their website, the tea house was a hand built gift from Boulder's sister city of Dushanbe, Tajikistan. The menu at Boulder Dushanbe Tea House offers many vegetarian options, and of course, many different tea options. I love fancy tea. I had the side salad and Indian samosas with Lady Grey's garden tea. Chad had the Persian chickpea kufteh with a refreshing iced tea cucumber mint mocktail. After our dinner, we hit the road for Estes Park with some daylight to spare.

Chad and I first went to Estes Park, Colorado about ten years ago for a friend's wedding. We stayed in the beautiful, historic Stanley Hotel in the main building. Yes, the hotel that inspired Stephen King to write his bestselling, iconic book The Shining. During that stay, we took the ghost tour around the property which gave lots of history of the hotel, and a behind the scenes look at the hotel and the grounds. We did not see a ghost on that tour, but we were startled by a prairie dog scurrying through a service hallway in the hotel basement. During this trip, we stayed down the hill from the original structure at the relatively new Aspire hotel and spa, which is still part of the Stanley Hotel Resort. Our suite at Aspire featured a separate living area and a full kitchen with a dishwasher. So fancy! (We don't even have a dishwasher at our home. Long story short, installing an automatic dishwasher in our seventy year old kitchen will require a $30,000 remodel, repipe, and rewiring job. The timeline for the project would take at least a month. I'll just wash the dishes by hand, thanks.) While the Aspire hotel didn't serve the same sense of history as the main building, or as the Lodge at Stanley Resort, Aspire did have a pool and all the modern luxuries such as air conditioning, plenty of electrical outlets, and yes, a full kitchen in our suite. The Stanley Hotel and resort is nestled in the entry to the Rocky Mountain National Park with stunning vistas in nearly every direction. 

Stanley Hotel

Mr. Stanley

Stanley Hotel Garden

View from our balcony at Aspire at the Stanley Resort

We didn't take the Stanley ghost tour on this trip, but we did attend a performance by a master of illusion and mentalism at The Underground. Jon Tai was the illusionist in residence during our trip with his show titled Road Signs. This wasn't like a Vegas, glitter-bomb, razzle-dazzle, magic show with a deafening live band accompaniment. This was more of a gentle artistic exercise in community building amongst the audience with sweet surprises sprinkled from beginning to end. Can confirm that I did gasp and giggle with delight throughout Jon Tai's show. Chad and I and hope to catch up with him elsewhere in the future. Follow him on Instagram to find his performances. 

The weather in Estes Park during our trip was twenty to thirty degrees cooler than it was in Austin, which we relished. Seriously, sweet relief from the heat back at home! The sun could get intense at times, especially at that altitude. A few afternoon rain showers during our stay in Estes Park were most welcomed. 

On our first full day in Estes Park, we took a stroll along the well-manicured Estes Park Riverwalk. A paved path runs along a babbling brook with Disney-esque landscaping. The Riverwalk conveniently backs up to the main commercial street. It's a tourist town area with so many candy shops, t-shirt shops, beer pubs, coffee shops, restaurants, local food trucks, art galleries, wine cafes, more t-shirt shops, and oddly, an Orange Julius like from the malls of yore. (Ask a Gen X or Millennial if you are too young to know about this. They'll be so excited to tell you.) Finally I saw a store I needed to visit. Chad and I like to buy a book or two from local independent bookshops when we travel. Established in 1928, MacDonald Bookshop in Estes Park carries plenty of books in a cozy environment. I picked Happy Place by Emily Morgan, and loved reading it. 

Later that day, we left the main drag for our anniversary dinner. Dunraven restaurant has floor to ceiling windows on two long walls with beautiful views of mountains and the diminutive Lake Estes. Dunraven has a nice atmosphere, without being stuffy or exclusive. I was overdressed in my Free People maxi dress and heels, but it was our anniversary, and I wanted to feel cute. I ordered the eggplant parmesan, which was delicious. The serving size was so enormous, that I took over half of it for later. (Because, as previously bragged, our suite had a full kitchen. And yes, we totally ate the leftovers.) Chad ordered cioppino (seafood stew served over pasta), and despite being real far from a coast for fresh seafood, he loved it. A complimentary drool-worthy tiramisu magically appeared at the end of our meal. Thanks, Dunraven, for actually acknowledging that box I checked for anniversary celebration when I made the reservation online.

On our second full day in Estes Park, Chad and I hiked in Hermit Park. Initially, we thought we could hike to Kruger Rock, but it proved too challenging for flat-landers like us, unaccustomed to the high altitudes. We were both sucking wind pretty hard only a quarter of the way up the trail. A kindly hiker and her dog stopped and suggested we try Moose Meadow for a gentle, idyllic wander. Moose Meadow offered charm all along the way! We did not struggle to get enough oxygen on this gently sloped meander through a wildflower field and mountain forest.

After hiking at Hermit Park, we were sweaty, and not looking or smelling too cute. We needed a super casual place for lunch. Notchtop Diner serves satisfying, casual breakfast, brunch and lunch, no reservations needed. Lots of our fellow diners wore hiking clothes. Chad loved his garden omelette. I leaned into my comfort food craving, and had a perfect grilled cheese sandwich with tomato slices added. 

Cute feature wall next to our booth at Notchtop

On our final full day in Estes Park, we took a private tour of Rocky Mountain National Park. Local naturalist, Bruce, picked us up at our hotel, and drove us into the park imparting wisdom along the way about the history, landscape, flora, and fauna. By going with a guide to the park, we did not have to make a reservation for timed park entry. Bruce flashed his guide permit at the ranger station, and we were welcomed. Bruce got us to the correct spots to see mountain sheep visiting the watering hole, a giant moose near a snow field (yes! still snow on the ground in late July!), and a few elk along the way. It was magnificent. 

Don't be too jealous. Our trip wasn't perfect. I had altitude sickness in the form of bad waves of nausea and slight dizziness during my first twelve hours in Colorado. From past experience with altitude sickness, I prepared by making sure to stay well hydrated, having ginger chews to settle my stomach, and making sure I ate so my blood sugar didn't drop too low. I still felt bad despite my efforts. While we were exploring Meow Wolf, I had to stop into the bathroom a few times for fear of vomiting. I bought an overpriced iced tea and bottled water in an attempt feel better. The iced tea was delicious, so I shouldn't complain.

While we ate dinner at Boulder Dushanbe Tea House, I had to breathe mindfully, and eat the side salad I ordered sooooo sloooooowly for fear of being sick. I didn't even try a bite of Chad's dish, because it was too pungent for my stormy stomach in the moment. He said it was really good. I drank an entire pot of hot tea, and lots of water, which offered some temporary relief from the altitude sickness. 

The drive between Boulder and Estes Park serves lovely scenery on switchback curves ascending into the Rocky Mountains. I had to breathe slowly through my mouth and keep my eyes forward, only forward, to avoid vomiting in the fancy rental car. Chad commented on the scenery, and if that pretty scenery was out the side window, I just couldn't look. It's like the altitude sickness and motion sickness were trying to form a super-group in my digestive tract.

There were so many fellow tourists at shops and restaurants in Estes Park. It felt like no matter where I tried to walk, stand, or sit, I was in someone's way. I'm so glad I made an advance reservation six weeks ahead of time for our anniversary dinner at Dunraven. Dunraven seated us right on time, but the parking was in ridiculously short supply. Chad paid to park at a marina, a quarter of a mile down the hill. The restaurant was crowded and noisy. Cascades restaurant in the Stanley Hotel the next night also had hectic crowds, and even with an advance reservation we had to wait fifteen minutes for our table. Our server at Cascades was excellent, but clearly very busy, smiling through what seemed like a super stressful job. (Please be patient with the human service workers doing their best to help you. Tip generously.)

One thing that low-key gives me the ick about the Stanley resort now, versus when we visited in the past, is how far the resort leans into the whole paranormal, supernatural, cursed schtick. It feels like the mall store Hot Topic came in as the event director, which is to say, a bit tacky. I appreciate the history of the Stanley resort. I appreciate that Stephen King took inspiration from the place. I personally don't like to exploit tragedies or trauma by displaying alleged cursed objects, or by cherry-picking events and embellishing them explicitly for shock value. The current vibe of the resort felt a bit like a low budget, ghoulish, morbid, ages 21 and up, haunted mansion redux. That opinionated judgement given, Stanley resort is still a very nice place to stay. 

Chad broke his front-top-center dental work on our last night in Colorado. His broken veneer made him self-conscious, but fortunately caused no pain. He was able to see our dentist for a temporary cosmetic fix the day after we arrived home.

We returned home to Austin amidst 105 degrees Fahrenheit. I'd cry about it, but I don't want to risk dehydration. 

Manic Hobgoblin's 2023 Resolutions

Manic Hobgoblin currently resides in a P.O. box in Delaware.

My inner Manic Hobgoblin previously lived in my head rent-free, and inspired all sorts of big ideas and projects. Some of the things inspired by Manic Hobgoblin, such as landscaping projects when Chad and I first bought our home, turned out well. Other things inspired by Manic Hobgoblin over the years have lead to burnout, such as the years when I held three jobs at once. Manic Hobgoblin thankfully went missing during the worst of the pandemic "stay home" days, but he has resurfaced. 

Manic Hobgoblin has taken up residence in a P.O. box in Delaware (for tax purposes) where he launched a Limited Liability Company. Manic Hobgoblin tried to convince me to become an early investor in his LLC with an exciting opportunity to get in on the ground floor, but I refused. I can't tell what the LLC even does, and Manic Hobgoblin can't sit still long enough to coherently explain it. I highly suspect that Manic Hobgoblin's LLC is a scam. I blocked his phone number, but Manic Hobgoblin uses fake accounts on Instagram to slide into my DMs. I try to ignore his mania and toxically obstinate optimism. I don't have the time or energy that I once had for his nonsense. Manic Hobgoblin said he'll leave me alone if I share his new year resolutions on the blog. 

1. Streamline all processes into an easy to follow flowchart, thereby removing uncertainty from most of daily life. (Editorial note: I've seen the flowchart. It looks like a pile of spaghetti. There is nothing easy to follow about it. Also Manic Hobgoblin has failed to account for human emotion in all circumstances.)

2. Make a viral video for YouTube. Parlay that into a successful YouTube channel with 1 million subscribers in the first year. (Editorial note: You can't just make a viral video. It gains traction organically, or you've paid for the likes and subscribes.)

3. Recoup losses from cryptocurrency investments with a class action lawsuit. (Editorial note: Oh no, Manic Hobgoblin! I told you that cryptocurrencies are highly volatile. Your best hope with a class action lawsuit is to recoup pennies on the dollar. )

4. Sign a lease for the LLC on a bigger property in Delaware with waterfront views. (Editorial note: That will certainly be a step up from the P.O. box.)

5. Win the HGTV Dream Home, and actually live it. (Editorial note: The federal, state, and local taxes will bankrupt you. You have to immediately sell it if you win. And you can't just resolve to win it.) 

Regardless of Manic Hobgoblin, I don't personally make new year resolutions. I try to do my best each day to be kind, and to take care of myself, Chad, and my pets. The closest thing to a resolution for me is setting a Goodreads goal of reading forty books this year.

Pre-ruined

🎄?=🙅‍♀️✈️ 🚗

I don't travel for major holidays including, but not limited to: Christmas, Thanksgiving, Fourth of July, Labor Day, Memorial Day, and Halloween. I don't travel for major holidays for a variety of reasons. The roads are more busy, and thus more dangerous, and thus more time-consuming for long distance travel. Air travel is more expensive, more crowded, and more likely to have a chain reaction of delays and cancellations during major holidays. It is more difficult and expensive to book a pet-sitter during major holidays. The most important reason I don't travel for major holidays is that people build too much expectation of what that holiday should be. There is such a slim chance that your dream holiday will be exactly fulfilled on the prescribed timeline. It's a recipe for disappointment. It's pre-ruined. 

Your idea of the perfect Thanksgiving will likely be ruined by my chosen dietary restrictions (vegetarian) and food allergies (peanuts and pecans, with a side of soy sensitivity). You will not enjoy my opinions of how Christmas is simultaneously too commercial and too sanctimoniously divisive even within the same church denominations. I will very likely cry because someone there says something hurtful to my tender feelings. I will very likely anger someone without meaning to; not realizing I've stepped on a culture war landmine. Maybe I'll anger someone on purpose, because we disagree, and I'm done staying silent. I don't want my holiday ruined because some family dynamic was tested by an ultimatum that backfired. An example of this was the year my husband and I traveled halfway across the country for Thanksgiving. What should have been a festive dinner of eight people at the fancy dining table was instead an angrily silent Thanksgiving dinner for only four people at the informal kitchen table with way too much food for four people walking on eggshells. 

When I stay home for major holidays, I enjoy the company of my little chosen family of my husband and my pets, sometimes a few friends. If someone in this small group ruins the meal by repeatedly opening the oven so that nothing gets cooked properly, or by forgetting to serve the desserts, or by leaning into an argument, or by maligning a certain breed of dog that happens to be my sweet shelter dog's breed, or by flipping over a board game gone too competitive, or by slicing their thumb during meal prep and spending the evening in the emergency room, (these have all happened to me, or near me, at major holidays,) then at least I'm close to home. I can easily make a hasty retreat to feed myself, relax with my sweet dog and cats, soothe my nerves, cocoon with a good book, or zone out to a movie that I like. I'm not stuck far away from the comforts of home for a few more days of tension, anxiety, and unmet expectations. I don't have to deal with hectic travel on top of the emotionally draining and fraught holiday interactions. 

I will travel to see you any other time of year. If some aspect of that series of interactions is imperfect, then at least the stakes weren't as high. We can more easily and immediately forgive each other; rather than stewing in resentment that the imaginary script wasn't followed to the letter. 

But during major holidays, I will send you glad tidings from over here.

To those who celebrate, merry Christmas! 

To those who get offended by acknowledging any other kind of holiday or celebration outside of Christmas, you can go now. Your portion of this blog post is over. 

Seriously. 

Stop reading. 

Move on with your day. 

No one will notice if you bow out quietly. 

Are they gone? 

To those who celebrate, happy Hanukkah! 

To those who observe the celestial changing of seasons, I wish you a comforting and relaxing winter solstice. 

To those who generally celebrate the festive feeling of this time of year, happy holidays! 

To those who observe Kwanzaa, enjoy! 

To those following the Gregorian calendar, I'd like to pre-wish you a happy new year! 

To those who partake in the airing of grievances for Festivus, um, I'm so unclear on this holiday. I hope it's what you expect it to be. I won't be there. 

If I have failed to acknowledge your holiday of choice in the appropriate manner according to your exacting standards, then file it under "pre-ruined." I didn't do it on purpose, but here we are.

I'm Not Scared of Ghosts

Many years ago my extended family took a road trip to Disney World when I was a kid. My immediate family (Dad, Mom, myself, and my sister who is seven years younger than I am) lived in Birmingham, Alabama at the time. We met up with my Uncle Maury, Aunt Vickie, and cousin Marissa in Orlando, Florida. My Aunt Vickie commented with some degree of wonder that neither my little sister or I seemed scared in the Haunted Mansion. We just stared and gave a few giggles of delight at the grim grinning ghoul animatronics and projections. Aunt Vickie also noted that I was oddly quiet on the infamously daunting roller coaster in the dark, Space Mountain. My sister and I weren't scared by manufactured chills or thrills, but we were afraid of real world threats to our safety.

Hitchhiking ghosts from Disney's Haunted Mansion

I currently live in a seventy year old house in central Austin. When Chad and I first moved into our home sixteen years ago, Dr. Blackstock, an older man from across the street (now deceased) would chat with me whenever he saw me out front working in the yard. He spun yarns of how our house was once hit by a car during a police chase with suspected bank robbers. He said that's why some previous homeowners built the limestone facade planters on the front of our house. If another car hits the house, then the car will be damaged worse than the house. Dr. Blackstock also pointed out a few of the BB gun pellet holes in the original windows on our house, reminiscing about how his children (now grown, middle-aged adults) staged grand battles with the children who lived here back in the day. (Those original windows now replaced by fancier energy efficient, double pane windows.) When botanical surprises would spring from the ground, Dr. Blackstock told me that at one point in the 1990s our home was occupied by owners of the local plant nursery, and how amazing it looked when everything was in bloom. 

Also when we first bought our home, an older lady would sometimes loiter in a car out on the curb. We guessed that the person driving her was her daughter or some younger relative. The older lady would lean out the passenger window, and tell us how her husband poured the concrete path, and poured the concrete for the posts of the laundry lines in the backyard. She asked wistfully if they were still there. The laundry lines are long gone, but (much to our unspoken chagrin) yes, that concrete is still back there, even today. We invited the lady in a few times, but she always declined. I think she just wanted to see the old place still standing and have her memories. We haven't seen her or her younger driver in about twelve years. 

Time and progress march on. Chad and I have witnessed cozy old homes around us demolished to make way for five bedroom, five bathroom, McMansions. We have suffered through years of construction dust and noise as the old state property across the four lane street from our corner lot is developed into urban infill, mixed use property. I admit that the paved walking trail and manicured landscaping around the large retention pond is beautiful with multi-acred rolling hills of lawn and grand old Oak trees undisturbed. The giant homes, multi-story apartments, and multi-story parking garages for the tall office buildings are less so beautiful, but very modern and shiny-new. 

A pedestrian crosswalk with traffic signal now occupies the sidewalk right outside our windows. Most pedestrians stick to the sidewalk, but the occasional person cuts through our front yard. I don't mind the people who walk on the grass, but I do sigh with frustration at the careless oafs who step on our planter bed flowering plants and kick the river rocks from our planter beds into the street. These defiantly destructive people broadcast a sense of bowed-up, come-at-me, looking-for-a-fight, danger. And they're literally in our front yard. 

Late each night between 10:00 PM and 2:00 AM I take out the trash, and visit with our outdoor cat, Sabrina. I bring Sabrina more food and sit on the front steps to brush her soft shiny ebony fur. Sabrina and I look at the sky, and listen to other critters (bats, owls, opossum, raccoons, and the occasional coyote) going about their nocturnal business. Usually the human pedestrian and automobile traffic is less present by this time of night. But a few nights ago, around midnight, Sabrina and I heard a masculine human voice. The utterances sounded far away, and were undecipherable, except for the word "hey." Sabrina seemed unbothered by the voice, so I stayed with her outside. Every few minutes, the voice sounded as if it was moving closer to our house. Still the only word I could pick out was "hey" among the other vocalizations. I reached a point where the voice sounded too close, and kind of eerily insistent, but I didn't see any person. Sabrina purred at my feet and leaned on my legs, desiring more brushing. I whispered to her, "Sorry, babe, but I'm scared. I'm going inside. You stay safe." 

If I could be sure that this disembodied voice belonged to a ghost, I would have stayed put with Sabrina. I was honestly more afraid and more certain that the voice belonged to a living person. Maybe someone inebriated, or desperate, or confused,  or maybe someone with bad intentions. Living in this sweet little old house, in the center of a rapidly growing city, I'm not scared of the ghosts of what was. I'm much more afraid of the physical realities of what is, and what is to come.