“I hope next year is better than this one turned out to be!” It was a remark made by a friend. This last year had not been kind to her. She had lost a lot of money when the stock market took a plunge. I am just a retired teacher getting by on a teacher’s retirement dole. What little money I had, has been spent helping my own children through rough spots. It has not been an easy year.

I thought about that when I entered the Swamp. If I cleared swamp once before you couldn’t tell by the amount of STUFF scattered all over. I have just finished my last Christmas present for an old friend. I’m fortunate to come from a people who celebrate all twelve days of Christmas. But from the way time and projects form a vicious circle; I figure it’ll be next July before I’ll catch up. I am late getting this column out and had it not been for Faye’s friendly reminder, that one wouldn’t have made it at all.

It is the last day of the year 2008 and I can feel Grand mamma’s presence.  I am not certain what disturbs the Grand Dame; the swamp or my thoughts. I don’t have to wait for an answer.

‘When have you not expected better from the future than you received from the past? Why not treat the past a little kinder? Was there ever a year without benefit? Exactly how much good has the past allotted to your existence?’

Lucky Grandmamma was never introduced to guns. Had she had the opportunity to tote a gun I am certain she would not have missed her mark.

I consider myself fortunate. So far she hadn’t mentioned the Swamp. But there are three projects still incomplete. There are the pictures I promised to complete in Adobe. Adobe is not cooperative. I keep having green pixels where there should only be brown pixels. The folder that contains Clyde Crisman’s pictures has simply disappeared. I find it easier to refresh my mind with a game of Solitaire. I suppress the urge to get a cup of coffee from the kitchen. There are still those questions.

I suppose I always hope for better things. ‘A man’s reach should exceed his grasp or what’s a heaven for?’ Lines from a poem, a ballad, a classic. I suppose I’ll always hope for better things. Without that hope there would be no dreams. Without dreams, I might as well be dead.

Ah yes, the past. The times when the past was grim; times without food, without shelter, without love, but never without air to breathe without narrow, hair-raising escapes. Perhaps the tough times sharpened my mind, strengthened my resolve to succeed. In this one aspect of existence the Grand Old Dame is right. The passing of time allows the wounded heart to feel less pain. Having survived may not be as desirable as golden laurels and recognition for success. But that’s OK too. I don’t have to fight off the paparazzi. Grandmamma is right. Each year in its way has benefited me with accumulative benefits from year to year; the kind that do not melt away like stock market certificates.

And so I quietly salute the past and gratefully acknowledge those experiences that made me strong. I hope my past does not begrudge me those fond hopes of a better tomorrow; hopes that keep my dreams alive. It was the past that taught me how to keep my nightmares in check. Those self-indulging little stallions born of fear have learned to gallop more quietly to a predetermined destination.

I suppose Grandmamma was right when she told me that my eyes were bigger than my stomach. I still find it difficult to turn down a challenge. There will always be more to do than there is time to do with. I consider that a blessing.

And so we’re all here together in the Swamp, my past, my present, and my hopes for the future and Grandmamma who knows this last day of the old year as Sylvester. May you be blessed with peace, unconditional love and friendship and may you be sylvestering as cheerful and as happy and as content as Grandmamma and I.