Gung Hay Fat Choy!

Gung Hay Fat Choy!

Fat Choy

Happy Chinese New Year! How cute is this pig? I am totally powerless against Hallmark’s mission of wringing the calendar for commodifiable holidays.

It’s my year – the year of the fire red pig, or wild boar, or whatever. According to legend, the pig was the last to cross the finish line in the Emperor’s race. Which has been interpreted as: 1) the pig will always be cared for and/or 2) the pig stopped for a snack and took a nap. I’m feeling a little of both.

My horoscope says I’m supposed to finish projects and relax this year. The last Year of the Pig, I got engaged, finished my Master’s, got married, and moved to College Station. (You may snicker about the College Station part, but I’ve gotta say I’m missing it a lot, especially given last week’s beating by Mother Nature.)

This year I want to work on the house so that people stop asking us if we’re moving in or out. Aiming a little low, you say? Maybe, but many years ago during one of my “I want to be anyone else, anywhere else” grumblings to God, He pointed me toward this verse from 1 Thessalonians 4:11.

11Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business and to work with your hands

Somehow that always seemed to settle my spirit and refocus me on my present – my marriage, my family, my friends. It still works today to dissipate anxieties about The Plan, The Career, The Prefixes and Suffixes around The Name. All that stuff is The Ennui against the light of perfect love.

Quiet ambition will do little to help me through Niska’s class tomorrow, however, so I should turn off the computer and get back to reading.

I Do Doodle