I'm really not sure how it got to be January — or the year 2013, for that matter — but here we are. And since not much is going on in this chilly little seaside town right about now, it seems like a good time to look backward, to the extent that's wise, given the risk of perpetual wistfulness. Maybe if I do it in small doses, it'll be OK. Take New Year's Eve, for example: Mr. Betty & I had such a nice time. It was just the two of us, and we made a last minute plan as usual. I'd been out taking a walk mid-afternoon and stuck my head into the Clarke Cooke House to ask if per chance they'd have room for us. Ask and ye shall receive; they'd just had a cancellation for 8:30. We ended up at the sweetest little table-for-two tucked into a windowed corner looking out over the entirety of Bannister's Wharf. Lucky us. Then, after a perfectly lovely din — all the better because we hadn't had all day/week/month to anticipate — we hung out for a bit, though not quite 'til midnight (leave that to the young'uns), to listen to music by the Honky Tonk Knights. We've heard them before. Love 'em, especially the guy with considerable sideburns who plays the stand-up bass. He sometimes even stands on the stand-up bass. That night, though, the guitarist stood out, in large part (to me) due to his hat, which couldn't have been more perfect for the occasion, that being the eve of 2013. Unless, of course, he was referring to the year(s) gone by ....
