I resolve. This month’s column is going to be different.
I’ll spare you from reading my New Year’s resolution, public policy reviews and the U.S. Constitution. You won’t hear me analyze the latest book I have read or Josh Hamilton’s impact on baseball instead. It won’t include snippets of Memory Lane or triumph from trials, from heartbreak or pain. In this column, no fantasy or fiction will abound, and I will not poke fun at Pants on the Ground. No flagrant fouls or politics in Texas, or who won the Oscars, beating out their Ex-es.
Though difficult at best, no American Idol, tales of William and Kate and everything bridal. I’ll suppress my opinions of both women and men, or long-lost friends I’ve discovered again. It won’t be a chance to pretend I can fish, or a call for my readers to post their best dish.
No more blackbird songs in the dead of the night, recollections of wings that have taken to flight. The tales of the Frenchmen will finally cease. No “how-to” found here for deboning of geese. I’ll stop with the stories of beloved Grand Isle, Cajun heritage fashionista style.
Discussions of any reality show, will not be featured here, I’ll have you know. A more noble subject, the greatest generation, saluted by toddlers amidst roaring ovations. Yet, I won’t mention my Labrador’s shedding, or my Granny’s fine china and Victorian bedding. No Saturday Night Live. No Betty White. No Harold Hill, or singing to My Someone, “Goodnight!”
At last, no more citing of math theorems here, nor any “notes to self” from the last forty years. I promise not to employ any Seinfeldisms, societal schisms, or tales of old water shoes. Or gossip about Tiger, Sandra, or Jesse’s tattoos.
Yes, I resolve.
I’ll forsake viral marketing or meaningful quotes, and tales of how immigrants once arrived here in boats. No Proverbs, no hints of an esteemed Southern wife, or Paula Deen recipes, and the most simple life. If you want to be a Hilton, don’t lend this your ear, a column collage of my nothings last year. I’ll only inwardly relish those College Gamedays, and how God still moves in unusual ways; this time I resolve. I resolve not to speak of analogies from sports, or TV Commercials of the Superbowl sort.
No poets or sayings or whose hair is graying, or things God has said as I found myself praying. Though the victory is mine, this time you won’t hear me whine, about all the things “female” and the treasures I’ll find. No, no. Not this time.
This time….I will write a post about….nothing. But all this nothing has really meant more to me than so many somethings. So thank you, Dear Reader, for sharing roads I have traveled, with all of God’s tapestries despite threads I’ve unraveled. Here’s to a new year: Welcome 2011! To The Cross Timbers Gazette, Lantana, and Hwy. 407.
I’ve broken my own rules in this column. Tucked away is a movie quote and the title of a Broadway tune. Can you identify the hidden quote/movie and Broadway song/show? Once you have solved the puzzle, post your winning answers on The Soapbox at www.facebook.com/the.soapbox.brandi.chambless. Happy New Year from my
desk to yours!