It was an unseasonably warm day in the second week of the new year, and the neighborhood went a little wild. After riding the weather roller coaster from sub-zero lows to barely-above-freezing highs, we could hardly believe the forecast. Meteorologists, clearly delighted by the surprise, announced temperatures pushing toward 60 degrees, a rarity for this time of year.

Our street is usually pretty quiet, but that day felt different. The sudden warmth must have sparked a bout of cabin fever because, before long, our neighbors on the other side of the fence were climbing trees. Around and around, up and down, they raced along the trunks, chasing each other with reckless abandon. Their bushy tails stood out against the stark, leafless branches. (Just to be clear, the branches were bare, not the residents with the bushy tails.)

It was fascinating to watch the chaos unfold until early afternoon, with five family members taking part in the chase, leaping from tree to tree or circling trunks like a living merry-go-round. The cleverest of the bunch eventually took refuge atop a nearby telephone pole, either to catch a breather or to revel in the impromptu entertainment.

By the next day, cooler temperatures returned, bringing back the deafening silence and the winter normalcy we’re used to. Still, it was great to have a taste of spring, and we hope that means it’s just around the corner. Of course, until the groundhog speaks in early February, we won’t be entirely sure that warmer days are ahead.

And before we wrap up, I should clarify: my human neighbors didn’t catch a fever and go wild, climbing trees and shaking their bushy tails. If you hadn’t already guessed, I was referring to the family of squirrels that have recently moved into the neighborhood.

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

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On the first Sunday of the New Year, the faithful gathered at the little church just west of the liquor store, where spirits of every kind are close at hand. It was January 4, 2026, and as the parishioners stepped forth on the fourth, they hoped the force would be with them as they settled into their usual pews for a morning of worship.

The worship leader cheerfully welcomed everyone and invited the congregation to join her in reciting the Lord’s Prayer. Before the pastor’s sermon, her message focused on resolutions, the promises we make on December 31 and hope to keep long after the ball drops. A new year feels like a fresh start, a chance to spend less, eat less, and live, laugh, and love more.

Then came her confession: she’s hooked on needles, crochet needles, to be exact, and her 2026 resolution is to buy less yarn. (Though judging by that grin, it might take more than divine intervention.) She warned anyone who might cross her threshold: do not open the front closet. One wrong move, and you’ll be buried under an avalanche of skeins, tangled in a fate of “knit one, purl two” before you know what hit you.

Personally, I think she spun that story just to string us along, until she revealed the chair in her living room that hasn’t budged in years, completely hemmed in by yarn in every color imaginable. It was then that I knew she wasn’t trying to pull the wool over our eyes. And her story wasn’t just a fabrication.

The thought of her house engulfed in a continuous strand of interlocked fibers, spun or twisted together, was humorous enough to leave me in double stitches. I wondered how she was able to weave from room to room each day without unraveling.

Here’s hoping her resolution doesn’t come apart at the seams, or worse, unravel before February.
Thank you for reading this column; it turned out to be a pretty good yarn.

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

“Please explore my other newsletter, Narratives and Notes on Substack, where writers and musicians share insights into how they hone their craft.”

I am a proud member of the Iowa Writer’s Collaborative.

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https://iowawriters.substack.com/i/145661110/who-we-are

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I’m just getting used to the twelve months of 2025, and now the ball is poised to drop us into another year. How quickly time passes and continues to fly, its wings have already carried us into the final hours of December.

In these last few weeks, I’ve been pondering the potential prosperity and positivity of each New Year, since it always seems to begin with dropping the ball.

“To drop the ball” carries a negative connotation in almost every dictionary on the planet. The phrase is defined as making a mistake, missing an opportunity, bumbling, fumbling, messing up, or screwing up. Yet tonight, millions will gather in the square to welcome the New Year with fanfare, falling balloons, flying confetti, and a champagne toast, as they eagerly wait for the midnight hour “to drop the ball.”

Thankfully, resolutions offer a contingency plan for mistakes made, opportunities missed, bumbles, fumbles, mess-ups, and screw-ups as we pledge to do better this year. Still, promises come with a limited warranty as we inevitably “drop the ball” amidst the pressures of a new year and settle into our familiar habits of the past. Take the resolutions to save money and declutter: we download budgeting apps and fill donation boxes, but by February, the apps are ignored, the boxes are empty, and we’re buying more storage bins to organize the clutter we swore we’d get rid of.

On the other hand, my dogs can’t wait “to drop the ball.” Rubber, fuzzy, squeaky, or not, they obsessively let it plummet to the ground in anticipation of a daily game of fetch. Unconcerned with the start of 2026, they have resolved to continue their practice for the next twelve months and beyond.

A ball has no beginning and no end — a perfect circle of second chances. We’ll drop it more than once, but if it bounces in 2026, my dogs will chase it with pure joy. Maybe that’s the lesson: pick it up, keep playing, and greet the new year with the same enthusiasm.

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

“Explore my other newsletter, Narratives and Notes on Substack, where writers and musicians share insights into how they hone their craft.”

I am a proud member of the Iowa Writer’s Collaborative.

Here is a link to learn more about our writers.

https://iowawriters.substack.com/i/145661110/who-we-are

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Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring ... that snoring was my spouse!!

The stockings were not hung by the chimney with care—

They were still in the dryer ... WHO LEFT THEM THERE!?

One dog was nestled all snug in my bed,

The other in a kennel on her back, legs outspread.

Buried under numerous blankets, due to the winter crap,

We all bedded down for a well-deserved nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I yelled at the dogs, “Quit barking,” there’s nothing the matter.

The full moon above with its vibrant white glow

Cast a bright light on trees and snow down below.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear,

Yup, it was Santa’s sleigh and those darn reindeer.

Santa, his suit all red velvet with white,

Called out reindeer names, eight of them that night.

He said their names loud so they would understand,

Listen, I am Santa! This Christmas, I’m the man!

Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen!

(Hmm, Vixen ... that must be a female reindeer?)

On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donner and Blitzen!

Santa steadily guided the sleigh towards the roof.

The reindeer set down, first right then left hoof.

One reindeer lost his balance, but, was able to right—

Wouldn’t be good to drop a sleigh of toys at midnight

As I stood there in awe of what was abound,

I realized we had no chimney for Santa to come down.

I thought for a moment, then a moment more,

I would just motion him over to the front door.

I opened the door laughing, in spite of myself,

In front of me stood Santa, the jolly old elf.

I apologized for the inconvenience: no fireplace to come down.

He said, “No problem!” as he put his sack on the ground.

Santa didn’t speak much as he went to work,

I told him the stockings were still in the dryer. (I felt like a jerk.)

He paused for a moment, then looked straight at me.

Santa had noticed we didn’t have a tree!

He said, “Listen to me tonight, young miss, and take heed,

Christmas isn’t about all the stuff you get,

It’s about sharing, caring, and acts of good deed.”

As he sprang to his sleigh on the eve of the 25th,

He said, “This year, friends and family

Will be your most treasured gift!

Merry Christmas to all, and to all have a great night!”

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When writers start gathering the basics for a story, they turn to the five W’s: Who, What, Where, When, and Why.

During the holidays, the “Who” is easy: the Whos of Whoville, those cheerful, festive folks who love Christmas, singing, and community spirit. The “What” is the Grinch, who travels from the top of the hill to “Where,” the nearby town, “When” on Christmas Eve, and “Why,” to swipe every decoration and gift he can find, hoping to ruin the townspeople’s Christmas plans.

We often feel sad for the Whos and the loss of their decorations and presents, and we dislike the Grinch, who is often described as a mischievous, grouchy, green, furry, and cunning character with a heart “two sizes too small.” Still, perhaps we aren’t as different as we think.

Before we judge him too harshly, consider this: maybe the Grinch decided to decorate his home, and after pulling last year’s box of lights out of the closet, he got pretty annoyed because he had to spend hours untangling strands of Christmas lights that had intertwined into forty-seven knots. (Sound familiar?)

Picture him heading to the store for sugar cookies and gingerbread ingredients, only to be overwhelmed by sticker shock, thanks to inflation and the numerous yards displaying giant blow-up Santas, reindeer, and snowmen. Perhaps he returned home, eager to bake a festive batch, only to realize he had misjudged the baking time. Consequently, the cookies turned out slightly too crisp, with dark edges that even a pile of colorful sprinkles couldn’t hide. To add to the irony, Auntie Mildred’s fruitcake arrived in the mail, sparking his suspicion. Was it a fresh gift or a fruitcake with a long history?”

Maybe the Grinch wasn’t just a villain. Maybe he was experiencing the same holiday frustrations we all do. The truth is, the season can make any of us a little grumpy when things go wrong. But then, the spirit moves us, and our hearts grow two sizes, surrounded by friends and family. And that’s the real magic of Christmas.

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

I am a proud member of the Iowa Writer’s Collaborative.

Here is a link to learn more about our writers.

https://iowawriters.substack.com/i/145661110/who-we-are

The IWC Holiday Party will be Wednesday, December 17 at the Harkin Institute in Des Moines at 7pm. It’s FREE for any paid subscriber to any IWC writer column, including this one, or $35 the night of the event. The award-winning duo Weary Ramblers will be performing and IWC authors will be on hand for socialization and goodwill. Please RSVP here.

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