In accordance with recent practice, I was asleep when the New Year arrived with toots and kisses and other merriments that are not compelling to someone who just recently turned 71, that is, me.

Oh, well, the calendar has turned and this needs to be said: The Upper Valley news story of 2023 was the arrival of Jersey Mike’s. Never in local history has so much been made of so little, a sub shop, but consider the state of the nation and the world and our sleepy little distractions don’t seem so bad.

And as for me in 2023, here are three highlights:

The Beat Goes On: I seem to have made a good recovery from my cardiac triple bypass in late July — but who can be sure what’s going on with all those fussy little bodily functions? Prior to my surgery I had fairly mild symptoms, although some vital arteries upon closer examination resembled culverts in spring gunked up with branches, rocks, old tires, mufflers, etc.

Recovery wasn’t easy, but it accelerated mightily when I was sent to cardiac rehab for about six weeks. Extremely upbeat nurses and exercise specialists kept watch as we did things like walk fast on treadmills, pedal bikes with alacrity, and pull a cord on rowing machines as we sweated and groaned. Being in a group made me want to make a good showing. Being hooked up to a heart monitor made me braver.

Before my surgery, I thought cardiac rehab was kind of dumb. But I was wrong, again. I made good progress week to week. Now when I stride up Seminary Hill in West Lebanon, my former Mt. Everest, there are no odd little chest sensations that are sort of like pain but not really, so a man could ignore them even if that’s a very bad idea.

Wrong Number: A technology crisis hit in December when my TracFone phone went dead. TracFone is mostly a pay-as-you-go service. It is very inexpensive, but in my experience the customer service is awful, terrible, frustrating, infuriating and not good. But what a value!

I made a series of calls to try to activate a new TracFone phone with my old number. To start this, agents around the globe speaking heavily accented English and working off instruction sheets wanted to send a text to my old number to make sure I was me. “But that phone doesn’t work anymore,” I told them. This brought them to a halt. I answered security questions. I waited on hold. I talked to more experienced agents. Sometimes calls dropped. I’d call again and start over.

After five, maybe six, series of calls lasting as much as an hour, I gave up. It would be easier to do a remote repair on the International Space Station. I got a new phone and a new number from another company.

The story would end there but it turns out that all sorts of secure transactions rely on sending you a text. The change in my phone number sent systems into a tizzy. The providers of my 401-K, high-yield savings account, electronic medical record, car insurance and online pharmacy all wanted to send texts to my old number. I spent many unhappy hours telling agents where I was born, where I was married, and what my first pet’s name was — Snoopy, dammit.

Dante fans will be pleased to know we can now dial in to the circles of hell.

Grandparents in Love: On a happy note, not very long after my heart surgery my son and his wife had our first grandchild, which has turned out to be a startling and remarkable development. We are late to this game, but Dede and I are out of our minds with what I suppose you could call joy.

Vivian, who goes by the nickname Vivi, was a preemie, alarmingly small. She spent considerable time in the baby ICU, but thereafter took the world by storm, gaining weight at a prodigious pace.

We are stupid with happiness. “Look at her,” Dede coos at every new photo, and I join her. Vivi is beautiful, wonderful, brilliant in the way she sticks out her tongue. See how she sleeps! Have you ever seen such grace? We melt at each smile. Her farts draw explosions of laughter.

Right now, in this moment, she is the best thing that ever happened. I said to Dede one evening, “What would it be like if we loved and welcomed other people like this?”

Oh, that would be something.

Dan Mackie lives in West Lebanon. He can be reached at dan.mackie@yahoo.com.