There’s something about a brand new year that makes me want to wipe the slate clean, so to speak — clean house, clean diet, clean body, mind and soul — and start fresh all over again.

’Twas Christmas Day and all through the house not a creature was stirring, least of all, me or my spouse.

Editors note: The following Sharon Randall column was first published 20 years ago. Randall is off this week.

My brother had a driving passion for cars. So to speak. Fords in particular. He was especially fond of speed.

It’s not often someone asks for my advice. Especially someone half my age. I wanted to help her. But I didn’t dare risk saying anything that might cause her to make a serious mistake.

Today I am getting an early start on my Thanksgiving tradition of writing a list of things for which I’m thankful.

Lately, I find myself staring at a face in the mirror and asking:

What’s your favorite time of year? I like different seasons for different reasons. But my favorite season is fall.

What are your favorite stories you learned as a child? Have you told them to your loved ones? What stories do you hope they will tell about you when you aren’t around to tell them?

How many birthdays do you celebrate in your family? My husband and I share five grown children, their “others” and nine grandchildren. At our house birthday candles burn nonstop.

Life stays interesting in one way or another. I like that about it, usually. Interesting is good.

Do me a favor. Take a minute and look back over your years. Never mind how long you’ve lived. Think about it. When was the best time of your life?

A few days ago, I packed a month’s worth of stuff and drove five hours to spend a week with my oldest, his wife and their two little ones.

My sister will celebrate her birthday this week, but it won’t be much of a celebration. Never mind how old she is. I’d tell you, but if she found out, I might not live to see my next birthday.