Hey 2025, show us watcha’ got

Think about that for a minute … 2025. Last year, as frenzied as it was, is now part of history, but don’t throw your 2024 calendar away. Hang onto it so you can use it again in 2052, 2080, and 2110. How’s that for optimism?

Once again, various psychics and clairvoyants are peering into their sundry crystal balls to let us know what the heck’s going to happen as we go into this new year.

This year, one such prognosticator says World War III will start, although another says there’ll be a cease-fire between Russia and Ukraine. One says to expect a worse pandemic than COVID-19, yet another says miraculous health cures are on the way.

That scamp, Nostradamus, once again predicted terribly awful things, like “a harbinger of fate” asteroid that will visit our planet and that a mysterious leader will rise up from the ocean and form an aquatic empire. Not to be outdone, the late Bulgarian mystic Baba Vanga predicted an encounter with aliens during a “major sporting event” in 2025.

I shan’t go on.

I have no prognostications of what’s in store for us or what futuristic devices we will be compelled to buy or upgrade this year. I mean, will TV screens get even bigger?

Will a Tesla not only drive itself but also decide where it wants us to go?

Will A.I.’s IQ outsmart us all? I must say, though, that so far, I’ve learned to outsmart my smartphone. I mean, I have customarily endeavored to avoid things or people that claim to be smart, and I figured a phone - like people - is only as smart as what is learned, or in the case of a device, what is entered, as in GIGO, computerese for garbage-in-garbage-out.

Like a moveable feast, you can have every aspect of your life right in your pocket. But wait. There’s always more. I find myself swiping through screens and menus to figure out what widgets and apps I might need, entering contacts and bank account numbers and even pictures to go with each. But in reality, I only use it for conversing and the occasional text message thing.

Excuse me if I’m getting whiny, but somewhere along the line, I’ve become a little disenchanted with the prospect of staying connected all the time. Like an old rocking chair grandpa who hides his ear trumpet when company comes over, I feel the need to disconnect and learn to relax.

Maybe I should go ahead and make “remember to relax” my New Year’s resolution. But on the other hand, I’m wary of making resolutions. A couple of years ago, I considered replacing resolutions with the word “intentions,” but then remembered that the road to you-know-where is paved with good intentions.

Looking back on last year as a whole and trying to grasp what events were important, the ones that might have changed our lives, is not an easy thing to do.

Sadly, we lost some loved ones – friends or family members – but then again, a few babies were born and that’s a good thing. A bunch of brand new people. People who have never existed before, all different, all one-of-a-kind. And that’s pretty cool.

As for me, all I can say is … I need a rebirth.

But we made it through the holidays, and now what? Do we start making plans for the coming year? One thing I’ve learned is that just because I’ve made plans, they’re going to work out. Sorta’ like those so-called New Year’s resolutions.

Even so, plans are much easier to make than resolutions because … well, you can always have a change of plans. For example, when you’re planning on going for a nice pleasant walk and on your way out, you stub your toe big-time before reaching the door. Oops. Change of plans. You end up cussin’ and fussin’ all night and favoring that foot for the next couple of days. Such is life, I guess, along with any expectation that things will turn out as planned.

Some people have the high-minded idea that they can plan out their entire year, month-by-month, which isn’t necessarily a bad idea, and it’s a little more realistic than predicting where you’ll be five years from now. I mean, those five-year plans the Soviet Union had in the 1930s never quite worked out as expected.

But I digress.

When it comes to making plans, I usually follow Mel Brooks’ advice in the movie The Twelve Chairs, “Hope for the best, expect the worst.”

All that said, I’m counting on it to be a good year. How can it not be so? I mean, this is Socorro, and Socorro is the town of comfort and sustenance.

That’s about as far as I’ll go in predicting the upcoming 12 months.