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Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Well, the joke last year was “Just wait until 2020 turns ’21 and starts drinking!”

I think that one turned out to be pretty prophetic, don’t you?

The one going around now is “2022 is just 2020 – too.”

Let’s hope that one won’t come true.

Anyhoo, the Family Robbo made a whirlwind visit to the vast, yet secure holdings of Fort LMC yesterday, there to bring in the New Year with the Former Llama Military Correspondent, his lovely bride, and their fine children, a practice we started nearly 30 years ago, now. As usual, it snowed food and rained drink, as Prof. Tolkien put it, and the LMC and I sat about making crotchety pronouncements about the state of the world, and occasionally checking up on the bowl game scores. I am ashamed to say that beforehand I had actually bought into the hype that Cincinatti might have a hope in hell of beating Alabama.

Somehow or other we all made it until midnight more or less upright. And for some reason or other, we turned on the Times Square ball-drop. I was amused to see that many of the revelers on the tee-vee seemed to be ignoring the masking requirement that now-Ex Mayor DeBlasio had commanded and began mocking things in a strong German accent. “Achtung! You vill obey zee orders at once! Und you! Und you, too! Shultz! Call out the guard!!”

My capacity for self-entertainment is pretty large.

We woke up none the worse for wear (more or less) this morning and duly returned to Port Swiller Manor. (Fortunately, I-95 didn’t get bad until we were north of Fredericksburg.) It still hasn’t sunk in on me that this is New Year’s Day for some reason. While getting used to the new year itself usually takes a while, forgetting the day itself seems a bit strange.

At any rate, here’s hoping you all had a happy holiday, too, and best of luck to us all in the coming year. I think we’re going to need it.


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January 2022