The New Year

They say that how you spend your New Year's Day will dictate how you spend the rest of your year. I would like to spend the year writing more. So here I am, awake in the not-so-early morning, hoping to record some thoughts and to feed this habit until it becomes second nature again.

This year we celebrated the Eve quietly. Roger was on call, though fortunately for most of the evening he was able to take the call from home. He was sweet enough to spend it with me watching the "What Not to Wear" marathon on TLC. I was going to pass the time reading Helen Simpson's Getting a Life (Roger had found it on remainder at the Dartmouth Bookstore), but I got pulled in by the catty talk and enjoyed vicariously the $5000 shopping sprees. Although he had to go to the hospital during the crucial hour, Roger did call at midnight and we wished each other a happy new year.

Outside, the New Year has brought signs of spring. All the snow has melted, leaving the trees dewy and the wood porch thoroughly wet - although I am sure we have not seen the last of our friends wind and frost. I quickly pulled the curtains so that my holiday pointsettias, on their last legs, can drink up some of this elusive sunshine. We hope they will last as long as the tree, which we'll probably take down, as was my family's tradition, around January 6, the Day of Epiphany.

Among the writing projects I'd like to resume: the story about Anemone (sort of a story about the relationship my made-up daughter would have with a grandmother that may be like my mother, and I guess, peripherally, with a mother like I might be, an interesting device that would allow me to retread ground covered in my Cherry stories) and this other idea about neighbors in the northeast (opening with a paranoid wife, new to the neighborhood, getting an unexpected letter from her unseen neighbor about how loud her television set is).

Hopefully more ideas will come as I start this nine-week course on entrepreneurship this Thursday. (I'm also trying to fit in two nights of yoga each week.) I've been reading Guy Kawasaki's The Art of the Start and it's been pretty entertaining. A lot of his motivational points could be applied to writing: think big, stop planning and start doing. I'll have to see after the first class whether I'll just be observing the class for my engineering story, or if I feel compelled enough to actually jump in and participate.

I'll end this post with some thoughts for James Hsu, who has been missing since the tsunami hit Thailand. We grew up with the Hsu family in Merced. James was the youngest child, and he played tennis with my brother Jeremy. All the Hsu children were incredibly smart and talented. Stanley, the eldest, was well-respected around town and set the academic example by becoming valedictorian and going to Stanford (his acceptance influenced a lot of students in following years to apply there). Peggy, who was my year, was not only smart, she was a talented artist and well-liked by everyone. I always admired her poise. Although we were in a lot of the same classes, and even attended Stanford together, I still wish I got to know her better. We were all shocked when Stanley, recently graduated from college, died in a car accident while on a trip through Yosemite in 1995.

James, who was a Stanford Business student on a exploratory trip through Asia, was last seen on the island of Koh Phi Phi. His sister Peggy has flown out to search for him. The family has put up stories and posts on newspaper web sites and various travel sites. We hope that they find him soon and come home safely.