My rough list of resolutions is a screed of the usual guilt and fears: Stop smoking. Make more time for friends. A thousand words a day, day in and day out. Start shopping around the six pieces I've finished this year, that are sitting in a neat stack on the bookshelf. Regain my lifetime record of fifty military pushups. Never let unfolded laundry stack up on the dryer. Pedicures every two weeks. A fine list, but I can cross off half: it ain't gonna happen. But I've been thinking about soup.