By Jane Futcher

How many times have you resolved to exercise every day, ban sugar from your diet and write no matter how many crazy things are going on around you?

I’m certain I’ve made those pledges every year since I started writing down my resolutions in 1902. Correction: 1962.

Have I succeeded? While I’m sleeping on New Year’s Eve I’m pure as the driven snow. But come January First, when I’m supposed to be eating black-eyed peas, I spot a chocolate croissant at Starbucks or a friend tells me I can’t miss the best TV series ever made that is about to air or I get reach into my top drawer for hiking socks and find I simply must clean out the entire closet between 10 a.m. and 2 p.m., when I’d planned to walk and write.

This year I know my resolutions will stick. After all, COVID is still a life-threatening menace despite the new vaccines — how the heck do you get one?— despite the masks, despite the social distancing we attempt going the wrong way down the aisle at the grocery store.

This year will be different, I’m sure. After all, if the nasty virus strikes us down, and we haven’t achieved our life’s goals, we’ll be miserable. I know I won’t die happy if my life plans are sitting like the dirty laundry in the basket in my closet?

This year COVID will help me say “no” to that croissant, no to that thrilling TV show and no to that sudden project that sabotages my writing and walking.

It shouldn’t be hard. I’ve frozen the cake and cookies left over from Christmas. I’ve used up all our WiFi gigs watching “The Queen’s Gambit” anyway. And I’ve found hiking boots that don’t hurt my feet. I’m on my way. How about you?