Cry January?

Welcome to my wettest month on record.

Are you doing “Dry January?” Or — as it’s past the midpoint of the month already — did you try? Over the last decade, the first month of the year has become a time to both evaluate and cut down on alcohol intake. “Dry January” is surging in popularity for many reasons, from a rising interest in health and wellness to the “sober-curious” movement among younger people — as well as an increase in appealing non-alcoholic options. I’ve done it myself in previous years, or a hybrid version I like to call “Semi-Dry January” (imbibing only on the weekends). Others do “Damp January,” opting to simply cut down or share drinks as opposed to abstaining altogether.

I planned on doing the “full Monty” in January 2026. And I had both looked forward to and dreaded it — which felt like a message. I knew taking alcohol out of my diet would definitely help me meet my health and fitness goals more quickly.

But when my beloved aunt fell on Christmas Day and remained in the ICU as the year wound down, I reconsidered: was this really the best time not to drink?

Friends, I’m over halfway through the month now and it’s been — I hate to say it — easy. But I think that’s because everything else is so hard.

I’m not so much having “Dry January” as “Cry January.”

It has been my wettest month in recent memory when it comes to amount of tears shed. So many emotions our family has felt and navigated these past weeks. Lots of ups and downs. Baby steps forward; giant steps back. Hope mixed with sobering doses of reality.

Typically, by the time mid-January hits, I’m in full New Year mode. I’ve enjoyed reading everyone’s “Top (fill-in-the-blank) of 2025” and “Most Anticipated (fill-in-the-blank) of 2026” ad nauseam. I’ve got a new calendar (I still use a paper one — can’t wait til my University of Missouri Alumni calendar arrives in the mail each fall) and a new spiral notebook. I’ve considered my past year and made some goals for the new one regarding my health and fitness, reading and writing, and “things to do.” Why, just a year ago, I was kicking off this monthly Substack with a deep dive on my spice cabinet (Refilling My Spice Jars — in case you missed it!).

But not this year.

Does sadness requires a trigger warning? Just in case: Proceed with caution.

All three of my adult kids were home for the holidays. And on Christmas Day our family had just sat down to a beautiful Belgian waffle breakfast when we got a text from my sister: our dear Aunt Carlene — my mother’s 85-year-old sister — had just taken a terrible fall and they were heading to urgent care. My aunt was quickly transported to the ER of a major hospital here in St. Louis and put into the trauma/surgical ICU with five or six broken ribs and a lacerated kidney.

She was there for thirteen days. We all were.

You hear about it all the time, the dangers of falling for older adults. But I had not seen firsthand how one instant of unsteadiness can unravel what had been a vibrant, relatively healthy and independent life. Bad rib fractures mean that every time you breathe, it hurts. A lot. So… you don’t breathe as deeply. Soon, your lungs start to collapse because they aren’t being fully expanded with each breath. They weaken. Take on fluid. Necessary pain medicine helps discomfort but suppresses deep breathing, so managing both becomes a balancing act.

My vivacious aunt (the one featured in my July newsletter Coffee with Carlene ) still had plans for traveling. Over the past two and a half years she has been to Norway, France and Germany and cruised the Rhine, Danube and Douro Rivers of Europe with many stops along the way. Aunt Carlene was still making and exhibiting her art (a show is scheduled for this March). She was so alive.

But nearly two weeks elapsed and she wasn’t getting better. After holding steady, she was getting worse and the trajectory was no longer reversible. She — along with her loved ones — made the difficult and heartbreaking decision to go on hospice.

She had wanted to hang around to “see what all the great nieces and nephews will do.” Take one last fun trip. And instead, she and I took an ambulance ride — no sirens — to begin a stay at a local hospice. A place where she no longer had bulky oxygen delivery tubes and beeping monitors. There would be no more scans, X-rays, chest tubes and the constant poking and prodding that comes with a bed on a busy ICU in a teaching hospital, where hosts of students, residents, fellows and attending physicians rounded daily and examined her. Not to mention other teams of interventional radiologists, PTs, pulmonologists, pain specialists and more.

The gorgeous, comfortable and non-medical surroundings of the hospice house were a welcome change. It was a huge relief, the quiet. But it came with no shortage of grief. And tears.

But I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. Yes, it has been hard; very hard. And yet these three weeks have also contained counterbalancing moments of true joy and laughter. Even tears of laughter.

The visitors came in a torrent.

The hospice house staff was amazed at the volume! Page after page of visitor sign-in forms filled and filed. Family, of course. From Iowa, Connecticut, Texas and all over Missouri. But the friends! There were SO many F.O.C.s (Friends of Carlene). They were from her many art circles: weavers and sculptors and fiber artists and stitchers and knitters and crocheters and painters and more. Colleagues from her thirty years of teaching art and AP Art History at Lafayette High School. And also from the St. Louis Art Museum, where she worked in the education department for over a decade. There were former students, too — from as far away as the San Francisco Bay Area and Tacoma, Washington. All came to bask in the glow of their friend and mentor.

The stories they shared. The smiles and laughs they gave her — and us. Sometimes there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Because she meant something important to them. They thanked her for teaching them art, of course. But also how to be a friend. How to laugh. To age gracefully. And to live life to the fullest until the very, very last.

The joy in that room! The hospice house staff, knowing we had missed Christmas with Carlene, brought in an adorable decorated tree. And it was obvious that a bunch of fellow artists were paying tribute. There were buckets of markers and pens, sketchbooks and craft supplies for making flowers — which were then stuck to the television screen. A disco ball (how she loved to dance!). Flowers, real and crafted, from lilies and orchids to roses and mums. A white board filled with highlights of her life. Framed sepia-toned photos of her and her mother and father, her sister and brother. A sweet little snapshot of her and Ed, her husband of 59 years, embracing in front of a breathtaking mountain range. A brochure from the latest exhibit at the St. Louis Art Museum. Cards and letters. A prayer flag made of handkerchiefs from her sizable collection. And a Scrabble board. There was even — at times — a large spotted cat.

My Aunt Carlene was the life of every party, a social butterfly with an infectious giggle and unmistakable laugh. The “fun aunt” and the friend you couldn’t wait to call or share a story with.

So it was deeply sad when that party had to end. We said our last goodbyes on Friday. It was peaceful. My brother and I held her hands. And we cried.

We were all so lucky to know her. To be in her expansive circle of love.

When February finally comes — and Dry January is over at last — I’m sure I will raise a toast to our Aunt Carlene. She would have been 86 years old on the 8th (and she did note that one of her big regrets was not making it to a “round number!”).

Cheers to you, Aunt C. We love you. Forever and always.

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What I’m reading:

• Writers & Lovers by Lily King. Last month, I recommended King’s Heart the Lover, her newest novel. I enjoyed that one so much that I had to read an earlier one that features the same main character — just a different slice of her life. This time we join Casey in her 30s, when she has recently lost her mother with no warning. She lives in a moldy-smelling garage-converted-to-rental room and walks her landlord’s dog and waits tables to pay off her burgeoning student loans, all while trying to finish the novel she’s been working on for six years. There’s a terrific love triangle that ultimately helps her sort out who she is and what she wants (beyond a book deal).

The Moonshine Women is out March 31, 2026. But your preorder now could really give the book a boost with booksellers who are making their lists for spring right now.

PREORDER YOUR MOONSHINE TODAY!

Also: If you have written a review for my first novel, The Flower Sisters — or you might like to — my publisher Kensington is having a promotion right now through the end of January that you will love! Simply fill out the form here and let them know where to find your review. You’ll be entered to win a drawing for a FREE Advanced Review Copy (ARC) of The Moonshine Women. And grand prize winners get a comfy “Between the Chapters” Book Club fleece blanket, too!

What I’m Listening to:

• Royel Otis. This pop duo from Sydney, Australia caught my attention with their single, “Moody,” which I loved — despite some labeling the lyrics as controversial. The band also does an amazing cover of the Cranberries’ “Linger.”

What I’m watching:

• Marty Supreme. The latest Timothée Chalamet movie has the young actor portraying Marty Mauser, a charismatic 1950s hustler in New York City with dreams and schemes (so many schemes!) to become the table tennis king of the world. He is unscrupulous and sometimes supremely unlikable… but yet, you end up rooting for him all the same as he navigates the sport, relationships and lots of terrible scrapes along the way. I screamed out loud several times! Highly recommend.

• Hamnet. I LOVED this book by Maggie O’Farrell and the movie did not disappoint. It was as visually glorious as her writing in the novel. Actors Jessie Buckley and Paul Mescal are both terrific in this quasi-historical story about Shakespeare, his wife and children, and his struggle to break free from the tyranny of his glove-maker father and follow his heart with his writing. The movie illuminates the making of one of his greatest plays, Hamlet, which is inspired by his own family tragedy. Sometimes movies aren’t as good as the book, but reader: I LOVED this one.