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My wife loves the videos on YouTube by [Emmymade](https://www.youtube.com/@emmymade). They are a bit hard to describe, but a recurring routine is that Emmy will do taste-reacts, where she eats a food – usually something out of the ordinary, like [Hard Boiled Egg Chocolate Pudding](https://youtu.be/3H2iFS2jUyw?si=L_-7_ZNS-X7e_84Q). She likes lots of these things, and says so. But she goes to long lengths to not say she hates something. A sure sign she was unimpressed is she will say, “That’s not my favorite.”

In a similar vein, I hate to talk bad about a book I did not enjoy. Not all books are for everyone, and some books are just not written with me in mind. That isn’t the author’s fault, and it doesn’t mean it isn’t the ideal book for someone else. So, when I just cannot finish a book, or when I sometimes finish when I should have quit, my default descriptor is, “That just wasn’t for me.”

In a first meeting with someone yesterday, I mentioned that I was a sixth-generation Mississippian.

That lead to questions.

I briefly told how Jonathan Hollowell and his family had moved from Wayne County, NC to Marshall County, MS in the 1820’s, to take up land left when the Chickasaw were forced to move to Oklahoma.

Her: It’s remarkable you know all that. Was that passed down in your family?

Me: No – I had to research it.

Her: It was important to you that you knew?

Me: Vital. It makes it easier to be here – in Mississippi, with all it’s issues – now, if I know how I got here.

In light of *waves hands* everything going on, some folks are considering deleting their Meta accounts.

I’m not ther eyet, but that is largely becaise of the 19 years and 11 months of work I have put into that site. There is writing of mine on there that exists nowhere else int he world, there are pictures I posted there that don’t exist elsewhere, and messages on there with people who have died.

The good news is you can export all of that. Facebook makes it surprisingly easy.

Just follow the instructions on this page.

My dad died when I was 48. For my entire adult life, every time I would call his phone, it would go the same way:

Him: Hello?
Me: Hey Daddy.
Him: Hello, son.

Every. Single. Time.

It’s the little things you miss.

“At one time in the world there were woods that no one owned.” ― Cormac McCarthy

Got all the crown molding up and caulked today (so much caulk!) in the kitchen. I’m like 95% done with this never-ending kitchen renovation.

Turns out I told my patrons I would resume the weekly essays on the 4th of January.

Whoever let me do that should be sacked.

(It was me. I’m whoever.)

It’s wintertime.

Granted, it’s wintertime in Mississippi, which means it might be 75 degrees and 90% humidity, or it might be 17 degrees. Every day is an adventure!

But it’s winter, and the days are short, and the nights are long. For my European ancestors, it would have been a total game changer. Food could run out, you might freeze. But here in Central MS in 2025, it’s just inconvenient.

But my body knows, somehow. Knows that this is a time for slowing down. Knows this is a time to stockpile calories. Knows this is a time to rest, to crave sleep more.

I’m going to try to live more seasonally in 2025. I don’t really know what that means, exactly. But it’s obvious to me that there is something baked into my genes that wants to act differently in the spring than it does in the summer, that treats winter different than fall.

I think I want to explore what that would look like this year.

I found the first blog post I ever wrote, back in December of 2003.

Bless my heart.

Last night, our neighborhood did one of its annual traditions – the burning of Christmas trees on New Year’s day.

It was a magnificent affair, as it always is. Flames that leapt 20 feet in the air. The passing of the trophy for the Fantasy Football league winner. The naming of those who died last year, those who have had job transitions, welcoming of the new neighbors. After the trees had all been cremated, we moseyed inside, where there was hot chocolate and champagne and chili and finger food.

We met new neighbors, deepened ties with folks I have only waved at on my walks, and caught up with folks I have been missing. And then we walked home in the crisp night, just five houses up the street, while talking about how much we love [our neighborhood](https://www.fondrennorth.com/about), and our city, and how grateful we are to live here.