Happy New Year. I know it’s hard putting those three words together, but you kept saying “Merry Christmas,” and for many of you, it worked. Look at those new slippers and robes, sweaters and mittens. Wow!

I, too, got new slippers, plus, you ready for this? From my Hollywood son-in-law, a bottle of single malt scotch, and I don’t even drink that stuff anymore. I’ll probably give it away.

For Christmas, J.P. Devine got some single malt scotch from his Hollywood son-in-law. Photo courtesy of J.P. Devine

Oh! I know things look black, but don’t give up yet, there are still 12 months left to go. For me that’s about 52 columns to fill your Sundays with. Be patient.

Oh, look. It’s from Dufftown, Scotland. I’ll just take a sniff.

Take heart. Valentine’s Day is coming, with more candy and hearts.

There’s St. Patrick’s Day and Easter eggs to color and summer weddings and a full fireworks display from atop the Lockwood Hotel.

Wow! You ever taste this stuff? Well, I had to try a taste.

OK, it’s hard to pronounce “Omicron,” just say it real fast like, “That one, the new one.” Folks will know what you mean.

Maine’s getting a bad name, because of the good folks and potato farmers up in The County, where they’re all needle-phobic and prone to conspiracy crossword puzzles. I bet they drink a little up there. You would, if you spent the winter in Eagle Lake.

OK, enough darkness. I’m bringing this history lesson to you this morning, because She and I have run out of destinations and dreams, and we need a boost.

Once our map was small but vital: Trader Joe’s in Portland, Freeport for anything, the Liberal Cup in Hallowell and Augusta for the Olive Garden.

Now, with Christmas lights dimming, we’re back to looking for house painters.

All we wanted to do was gentrify the front of the house and make the neighbors think we’re alive and booming.

As I walk through town, it looks to me like Waterville is booming.

And judging by the progress on the Paul J. Schupf Art Center, we are quickly parachuting into gentrification.

OMG. This stuff is aged 12 years.

Before long, a jillion events will happen here, where crazy flatlanders from all over the world are booked into the Lockwood Hotel and fill our shops.

While I’ve got you on the line, may I ask how long we have to keep calling it the Paul J. Schupf Art Center?

Sure, Mr. Schupf was a good man and a generous patron of the arts, but it’s such a mouthful, don’t you think?

Won’t it get to be a drag when it becomes the promised “Event Center?”

The invitations will read: “My daughter is getting married in June at the Paul J. Schupf Entertainment Center.”

Or “The body of the prominent Harold Penrose Conlon will be on view at the Paul J. Schupf Art Center.”

Boy, just smell this stuff.

Take heart. Don’t give up on me. Starting next week, I’m gonna be wall-to-wall laughs.

I know it’s early, but 12-year-olds? You know what I’m saying here?

J.P. Devine is a Waterville writer.