I haven’t been in Fulton, Kentucky, for more than 30 years. It’s very likely a pretty nice town. Even then, in July 1966, the night of the unpleasantness, there were at least three mighty fine people living there. That’s how we managed to get out with no more physical damage than a few bumps and bruises. And of course, a ruined truck.

Nothing changes on New Year’s but the date, and that only because of arbitrary accommodation of astronomy to Roman festivals, politics and bureaucratic convenience. But no matter; arbitrary or not, it’s a good occasion for us to make some changes. A time for self-centering.