T.S. Eliot was wrong

There is a saying that goes something like this:  “How you spend your New Year’s Eve will be how you spend the new year.”  Our furnace died a sudden, squawking, smelly death two hours before midnight on New Year’s Eve and left us in the cold for nearly 48 hours.   It was clearly a harbinger of things to come.

Since then, we’ve had to replace not only the furnace but also our kitchen faucet , hot water heater, and my son’s glasses.  2015 is still a newborn and already I’ve gotten a jury summons,  our dryer is giving me the F22 code of doom,  the sun hasn’t made an appearance around here for pretty much the last two weeks, and today the stomach bug that’s been so popular among all the kids chose my son as its next victim (the timing of which is of course just peachy—the kids’ grandmother is supposed to come for a weekend-long visit tomorrow, by which time the rest of us no doubt will be upchucking).  This doesn’t bode well for the rest of the year, I’m afraid.

I’m hoping it’s just January being its usual asshole self, though.  Some of you may remember last January, which brought a plague of lice and a crazy number of snow days down upon us.  When I was a kid, January once ushered in a deadly blizzard, and then later, when I was in grad school, an epic snow storm that brought most of my part of the state to a complete standstill.   I don’t think it’s any coincidence that Fidel Castro, Pol Pot, and Idi Amin all came to power in the month of January.  And guess during which month the Gulf War began, the Space Shuttle Challenger exploded, and Gandhi was assassinated?  In fact, one of the few times January ever got its shit together was 11 years ago when my daughter was born.  Of course, it had to be a dick about it and force us to drive to the hospital in an ice storm.

April is the cruellest month?  I have my doubts.

Happy Flippin' New Year

Happy Flippin’ New Year