Dear 2013,
First allow me to apologize for the lateness of this letter. I usually write promptly to each Year as it passes and no slight was intended, but I should explain.
You see you were not my favourite year. Don't get me wrong, I've had worse years. The year JD died was pretty bad. Oh, and the year I crashed my mom's car, that was fairly awful. Not to mention the year Highlander II was released. I still haven't really recovered from that. It's just that you made it so difficult to love you, Year, with your stress and your lack of decent local dining and your new house that smelled like old cigarettes and your bloody seven bloody months of bloody winter. As I sit here trying to think of the things to thank you for it occurs to me that maybe, just this once Year, you should be thanking me.
For...
... increased sales at all western Starbucks' drive through windows.
... insisting that Alberta is a great place to live despite snow,
... and ice,
... and distance,
... and muskeg,
... and a two month growing season,
... and tornadoes,
... and fogs,
... and hail,
... and F-18s,
... and country music,
... and the overwhelming prevalence of plaid flannel,
... and Albertans in pick up trucks,
... and sudden moose.
But mostly you should be thanking me, 2013, for raising above all of this 'thisness' that you threw at me and coming out on top in a happy, beautiful home that no longer smells of other people, my joyful and silly Husband, a healthy family, friendships that have stood strong over distance once we scattered to the four corners of the continent (and one big jump to a whole 'nother one), wonderful new friends who tolerate, nay, egg on my shenanigans, and a determination to never, ever, wear a Stetson again.
You are most welcome,
Remote
