How Do You Measure, Measure a Year?

Oh hello, friends. It’s been awhile. In fact, it has been so long since I opened up this site, that I forgot how. Seriously. What’s the site? What’s the log in? How do you create a post? Did I really only post a dozen times this year? 

Writing has always been cathartic for me, and I have used my blogs as a means to escape and write from the heart. But my former blogs were anonymous – to a degree – and though the last 6 years with Scott has seen its fair share of ups and downs, there has never been a need to write the lows like this year. But there is something rather unnerving when the cashier at the grocery store reads your blog, or the patrons at your business know more about, well, your business than you think they do.  It was easier to hide this year than it was to write. 

I blame 2017. 2017 was the high of all highs, the most magical and transformative of my life. Scott and I got married here, bought the farm, I started a new job, my little sister got married, and Ivan was the light of our lives. We knew closing out last year that the Factory was going to be ours, and the potential and excitement of becoming first time small business owners in a village we love with our whole hearts was the icing on the cake. We were truly on top of the world. 

And then February came and we saw ourselves burdened beyond anything we ever thought possible. Keeping our full time jobs and learning how to run a business was so overwhelming that we just buried ourselves in it without coming up for air. Work harder, work longer, work better. Just work – and then work some more. There were bright moments in those couple of months, reassuring comments from friends in the village that we were doing great things. And we picked up the pace and planned for the launch of Scott’s cocktails in late summer. 

And then Ivan got sick. And my world was so shaken that I did not move from his side for 5 weeks. And as I watched my soul mate fade, a great deal of me faded too. And the day we buried him in late June, I just gave up. Didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to laugh. DIdn’t want to frolic on the farm as I do every summer. Just wanted to hide.

And so I did. 

School came and so did the liquor license, and in a massive effort, Scott started slinging cocktails by the end of September. I was already drowning myself in school work and working every weekend at the cafe, and Scott played the 9-5 at his full time job before heading to the Factory to mix every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday night. We stopped getting to see our friends, our family, and most importantly – each other.

But the nights that I stayed home when Scott mixed, the big old house haunted me and I longed for Ivan. In his stead, Cado walked into our lives, and thus emerged the very best thing about 2018. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t long for my first boy, but we have settled into our lives as a family of 3, and could not be happier with our decision to rescue again. 

The holidays are a blur – we found momentum with the cocktail program and Scott has been killing it behind the bar, pouring his heart and soul into each cocktail he makes. And with all of the festivities and events at the Factory, everything else suffered here. Holidays cards were never mailed. Presents were purchased and wrapped last minute. Essentially, holiday cheer was at an all time low. 

There is a song from the musical Rent, Seasons of Love, and there are a few lines that every New Year’s Eve stand out to me as I reflect on the past. 

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?

In daylights, in sunsets
In midnights, in cups of coffee
In inches, in miles
In laughter, in strife

In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure a year in the life