December mornings can be cruel, especially if one lingers in bed too long upon wakening. Grey, cold thoughts creep into my thoughts in the cool darkness. They seep into my body and I wear them like a shroud. Best to swing my legs up and out. Let my feet hit the cold of the floor and jolt myself out of my reverie.

It is almost 2020. And what have/will I done/do? The urge to sink into the same old, same old is strong. I hate to use the same old lines but I am tired. But when am I not? I can’t/won’t use that as an excuse. So here I am, showing up at my keyboard, flexing my fingers, limbering up, putting my thoughts and feelings onto the page. It helps to see them in black and white and not just whirling around endlessly in the chambers of my mind. Here on the page, I can see the beginning, middle and the ending. I can see the rhyme and reason, errors in thinking, grammar, spelling. I can see them all. There’s no place to hide.

It’s will power and determination that got me here this morning. I swallowed my fatigue, cynicism and all my other bad attitudes. I can tap my way to heaven one day at a time. Maybe I can get all the way there by next New Year’s Eve. How many steps are there? Has anyone counted? Surprise, surprise! I’ve found a few Stairways to Heaven on the world wide web. The Haiku stairs on Oahu has 3,922 steps. Then there’s the Cuilcagh Mountain in Ireland. I’m not sure how many steps to it. We had plans to climb the 999 steps in Hunan province, China. But the political climate pulled the rung from beneath our feet.

It was a huge disappointment to be sure. That’s life. You make other plans and other goals. Sometimes you get more disappointments and hardships. Then I want to tear my hair out and then sink into bluedom. But I’m not good at staying down. It doesn’t feel good and I have to reach up towards the light and another stairway to heaven. So here I am, on the first step, starting again at the bottom. I’m warming up, stretching and practicing my reach for the top.