To recap.

Before we went home for Christmas, Tom and I were grabbing some dinner down the street when I asked him: “Do you think this was a good year?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” he said, nodding–then stopped and looked at me with that expression he gets when he suspects I’m setting a trap. “Don’t you?”

No trap here. I actually rather loved oh-nine, speed bumps and all (especially compared to 2008, which sort of pooped on my carpet, Todd Packer-style): I saw girlfriends in New York and Philadelphia and Ohio. We went to Mystic and Rockport and Lake George. I spent time on the deck and in front of the fire, on mountains and on beaches and riding shotgun in cars. I wandered around farmers markets, tried a CSA for the first time, and  made a lot of tasty dinners. I spoke up at work, and finagled myself a schedule that leaves me time to do the stuff I actually want to do. I wrote 50,000 words. I got a few of ’em published. I planned big plans.  2009 was a rebuilding year, for sure–and I am facing 2010 feeling, well…built.

Bring it on, universe.

I am so ready.