“I don’t know,” said Doc, sitting on a hay bale.

“What do you guys think? Is Steve perfect yet?”

“A perfect what?” Dud chimed in.

“Okay, okay, go ahead and laugh,” said the tall cowboy. “But you’ll have to think up some, too, won’t you?”

“That’s true,” Doc said. “I thought about it, and this year I’m going to quit smoking.”

“You don’t smoke, Doc.”

“I know. That’s why I think I’ll be able to keep my resolution.”

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Dud said. “I’m going to learn the accordion.”

We looked at him. “Accordion?”

“Sure. You know. Myron Floren. Frankie Yankovic.‘Lady of Spain.’ All that stuff.”

“Accordion?”

“And why not? Isn’t learning the accordion the pinnacle of human endeavor? Isn’t playing polkas and waltzes the rural equivalent of grand opera? Don’t the names Hohner and Galanti echo today with the same thrill as when we hear Steinway and Stradivarius?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m gonna learn it anyway.”

“Say Dud, can you hold off on that for about a month,?” Doc asked.

“Sure. I guess. Why?”

“So I can sell my house before the property values plummet.”

Dud’s face reddened in the laughter there in the barn.

“Hey,” said Steve. “I’ll bet ol’ Dud’ll be real good on that accordion, too. I’ll bet he could make some money by not playing it in several night spots around here, too. Now I’ve been thinking, and it seems to me I should resolve to knock off a few pounds this year. I’ll bet that’s probably the number one resolution in the country, too.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Doc said. “Losing weight has to be the most popular resolution. Seems to me we must be pretty lucky to live in a country where our biggest personal failing is eating too much good food.”

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