I think 2013 is going to be a good year, or at least a better year, for most of us. First of all, I have decided that were I to have a lucky number, it would be thirteen. After all, my Mom was born on Friday the thirteenth. Secondly, in spite of the political shenanigans in Washington, the economy is showing signs that might be harbingers of better times ahead.

Here’s an interesting metaphor, though: When we look up at a full moon through the branches of a tree, the moon seems as big and as bright as ever. However, when we take a closer look with the aid of a pair of binoculars, we find that it is actually partly obscured by twigs and leaves. Alas, in reality, it is still not as bright as it could be.

In the case of our up-coming new year, I prefer to anticipate it without the aid of binoculars, so to speak–at least until the vodka wears off.

Happy New Year.

It’s eleven PM. I finally turn off the TV and find myself resting my eyes in the quiet and listening to Aunt Erma’s grandfather clock. It ticks and tocks and ticks and tocks away the seconds, as it always has. But they are not ticks and tocks””they are chinks and kachinks, its own unique language that, in any event, says the same as all clocks””tick and tock, tick and tock.

And I listen. And I become uncomfortable when I discover that the chink-kachink, chink-kachink seems to have somehow become in sync with my heartbeat. Systolic-diastolic, systolic-diastolic””the language of life.

And I am frozen momentarily. What if it stops? I feel as though I dare not move.

And then, a dog barks in the neighborhood. I look up. I Rub my eyes, rise from my chair and head for bed. But I can still hear the chink-kachink, chink-kachink out in the living room. I can never escape it.

Eventually, the rhythm of time that startled me earlier gently takes me by the hand and escorts me into a deep slumber. Just as it does for small children and puppies.