One of the things I've learned, but somehow keep forgetting, is that the best-laid plans are at risk of imploding. That's especially true at the holidays when things are scheduled to the milli-second, to the last piece of cookie dough, to the final gift tag, to that one last  calendar entry. It's a time when we especially want things to go perfectly, even if they don't come close the rest of the year.

A day before Christmas, my sister and her family arrived here from Chicago. I expected them in the afternoon so I had the morning to run those final errands. I got home at 12:05, five minutes later than I'd scheduled, to begin cooking -- a final batch of cookies, the first of two coffee cakes, entrees for the Christmas morning brunch, a fruit tray for later in the day. They arrived slightly later than expected, but that gave me a few minutes of extra kitchen time. But moments after they began sticking package after wrapped package under the Christmas tree, my sister pointed out that my dog was sick. And so she was -- in the living room, the hallway, the entrance way and the dining room. That was my sister's family's cue to skedaddle to my brothers' house in Lititz. I was left cleaning the carpets and floors for the next hour. Not how I planned things.

Christmas Day I was scheduled to work at my job. But before heading in at 12:30, I hosted a Christmas brunch for 12. All went well. Until about an hour and a half after I arrived at work. My sister called to say that she was in the emergency room with my dad, who would end up being hospitalized for five days and miss Christmas night activities and the big family gathering Dec. 26. Health problems were not part of the plan. Then came the snow, which nearly, but did not, upend other scheduled events. Not how I'd planned things.

Which brings me to my one New Year's resolution: to no longer be a slave to my itinerary.  As somebody once said if you want God to laugh, tell him about your plans.