The new year has arrived, and for some people who considered 2022 thoroughly “meh,” 2023 might seem like the fourth year of 2020.

But it’s traditionally that time of year when the two-faced Janus turns the kind side of his head toward us, eyes blazing with hope, suggesting to us that the year ahead holds many possibilities, some of which are within our power to grasp.

Enter the New Year’s resolutions.

We have the best of intentions, but the reality is these are gestures aimed at pleasing our logical selves. What we do (or don’t do) with them is the result of our emotional selves.

Usually, after a good New Year’s hangover (is there such a thing as a good hangover?), we pledge never to drink again. This is what the teetotalers in the image above are doing. And good for them if they can sustain themselves.

For those who are on more familiar terms with libations of the celebratory nature (of which the holidays inevitably offer a wide variety), perhaps we owe our attention to Ogden Nash’s droll little ditty, “A Drink with Something in It.”

There is something about a Martini,
A tingle remarkably pleasant;
A yellow, mellow Martini;
I wish I had one at present.
There is something about a Martini,
Ere the dining and dancing begin,
And to tell you the truth,
It is not the vermouth—
I think that perhaps it's the gin.

There is something about an old-fashioned
That kindles a cardiac glow;
It is soothing and soft and impassioned
As a lyric by Swinburne or Poe.
There is something about an old-fashioned
When dusk has enveloped the sky,
And it may the ice,
Or the pineapple slice,
But I strongly suspect it’s the rye.

There is something about a mint julep.
It is nectar imbibed in a dream,
As fresh as the bud of the tulip,
As cool as the bed of the stream.
There is something about a mint julep,
A fragrance beloved by the lucky.
And perhaps it’s the tint
Of the frost and the mint,
But I think it was born in Kentucky.

There is something they put in a highball
That awakens the torpidest brain,
That kindles a spark in the eyeball,
Gliding singing through vein after vein.
There is something they put in a highball
Which you’ll notice one day, if you watch;
And it may be the soda,
But judged by the odor,
I rather believe it’s the Scotch.

Then here’s to the heartening wassail,
Wherever good fellows are found;
Be its master instead of its vassal,
And order the glasses around.
For there’s something they put in the wassail
That prevents it from tasting like wicker;
Since it’s not tapioca,
Or mustard, or mocha,
I’m forced to conclude it’s the liquor.

There are plenty of people who don’t drink (or who, if they do, they manage to do so in moderation), but for those who do and who are abstemiously embracing Dry January or to those for whom 2023 offers no glimmer of hope, fear not!

In the next issue of Timeless & Timely, we will have some words of encouragement for you from E.B. White.

Fix the drink of your choosing. Light the lamp. And keep hope in your heart.

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Thanks, and I’ll see you on the internet.