Last year I bought several strands of vintage white, battery powered lights at Michael’s. They were $5.99, plus 60% off, and wait there’s more – I had a five-dollar rewards coupon. It’s possible that Michael’s paid me to own them. They were on the adorbs scale of cute with teensy little ladybug sized bulbs. Their existence and twinkliness made me warm and happy.
The lights required three AA batteries. I twisted them, wrapped them, and stretched them, updating batteries when they shifted from bright to dim to done. They decorated the outside porch railing and indoor mantel.
In late November, one of the strands went dark. I replaced the batteries. Nothing. I replaced them again with different AAs. Still nada. I determined it was user error and turned the batteries around. Zilch. With a Q-tip, I cleaned the holding area, then replaced with a different brand of batteries. Zippity Zero.
I sat in the kitchen and furrowed my brow, reluctant to admit and accept that the lights weren’t going to come back on. It wasn’t the batteries, and I couldn’t revive them, they were gone bye-bye for real. Damn you, Michael’s.
The other two strands are hanging in there, but I’m open to the fact that even ladybug lights have a limit to their season of shine.
I’ve circled back to these lights and my behavior several times in the past few weeks. It’s familiar and it isn’t always balanced and healthy, so my word for 2024: battery.
I’m a chop wood, carry water kind of girl, which has more good sides than bad, but dang it’s hard for me to let things go, even when they stop working. I have an infinite supply of all sizes of batteries in the junk drawer, and most everyone knows where I keep the key, which can create the illusion that I’m a catch all power source. I’m mostly down for this, but there are energy hacks, and in 2024 I’m going to be thoughtful of my grid.
My intention is to tend what I provide for myself and lend to others, to know what does and doesn’t fit, and to let go when things no longer work, recycling back into the universe for the good of all concerned.
Me: My word for 2024 is battery.
Smokin Hot Love Biscuit: As in assault and battery? Maybe with a side of B & E?
Me: Not the context that I was considering, but day ain’t over.
***
2023 ended with dear friends. Some I’ve known for decades; some for a shorter period. A brunch stretched into the afternoon and ended with a drive on Atlantic Beach. On the last day of December, the weather was sunny, cold, and windy. As I stood on the truck bed feeling all the feels of being alive, I was reminded of how much I love happy endings – second only to fresh beginnings.
Happy New Year!
I like this idea of a word for the year, though I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Beach rides are always a good idea.
I bought similar lights last year and the same thing happened to me. But I do not have a word of the year for my experience except: don’t buy those lights again.
Emily, you have a unique and true writing talent. You are exceptional. I mean that. Send some manuscripts to publishers. You are so much better most of the novels I read / hear on audible. Nike: Just do it. -Troy.
Beautiful. New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day seem to always bring a relaxed, adventurous energy. 12/31/23 turned out to be the kind of adventure day where a variety of batteries linked up and produced more than expected. More of that for 2024.