Muddling Through

Well, to steal a phrase from Miss Deven Green, hello there.

As you've no doubt noticed, I went, in the words of Mrs. Gallagher Levi, away from the lights of 14th Street* and into my personal whirl. And what a whirl it's been.

That's a bit of a stretch, actually; it's been a very quiet half-year, and now I'd like to end 2018 by apologizing for the vanishing act. Among my resolutions for 2019, I've decided, is to hang out here a little more. At this point, blogging is so wholly obsolescent as to be, in a boomerang kind of way, kind of neat, and if nothing else I miss the discipline of occasionally composing in more than 280 characters (I'm very busy on Twitter, in case you've missed that; it fills the time, but doesn't in the end wholly satisfy the writing bug).

In any case, here it is again, New Year's Eve, and once again I thought it might be a good idea to revisit Miss Garland and have her wish us all the best forever and always.

I suppose I should catch you up on the doings chez nous, such as they've been. Most of the news, on the whole, is good. The Mister has a new and rather swanky job with much improved hours, which means that I get to see him on at least part of the weekend and we get to go out and do amusing things on Sundays like normal people. I, too, have a new if temporary billet, and therein lies, I think the biggest news: I'm retiring.

Yes, after 20 years before the mast, it will be time to do something else. My time in Human Resources ended midsummer, and I've returned for my final few months to the training division I was in before that, once again spreading the gospel of strategic communication to moderately appreciative audiences at home and abroad. If nothing else, it snagged me my first-ever trip south of Miami a few weeks ago, to Panama. Startling, given all the places I have been, that I've never been in that part of the world at all, and from the little I saw outside a hotel conference room, it was perfectly pleasant. Warmer than Our Nation's Capital, that's certain.

The dog is well, too, and more importunate than ever. My Dear Sister spent Christmas with us, along with her wife and their dog, a small fluffy creature of enormous charm and no sense whatsoever, and it's made us think that perhaps, since we lost dear Koko, our Boudi might be a little lonesome. The Mister is making dark noises about visiting shelters in the new year. We shall see.

So one reason I thought it a good idea to re-enter, as it were, the arena, is because I've selfishly realized that one thing over the years that I've greatly valued about this battered old place is that it serves as a reminder, an online journal, of what I've been doing and thinking and been amused by. I thought, perhaps, it would be of interest to future-me if no one else to chart the course into whatever it is that will come next.

So watch this space. And please, my dears, do forgive my absence. Since I seem to be in a quote-y sort of mood, I'll invoke (Lord Lloyd Webber's) Miss Desmond and say: I've come home at last.

* Fun fact: I actually lived on 14th Street, once upon a time, right at Seventh Avenue. A very nice flat it was, too, although not air-conditioned, which meant that I not only had to deal with the lights (and very bright they were) but the sounds of 14th Street. It's amazing I slept at all between 1991 and 1995. Perhaps I didn't...