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Every Sunday morning, once or twice a month, I used to host a brunch at my home for my extended family and friends.  The food alternated, though it was usually deli, as did the people, though my parents were always there.

But shortly after my mother died, more than twenty-five years ago, our Sunday brunches ended.  To this day, I don’t really know why.

Do I miss that tradition?  Yes, I do.  It was fun to regularly share food, news, and a running game of pinochle with my dad and brother. And no, I don’t miss a tradition which had completed its course.  The riverbed remains in my soul but now runs dry.

Last week I received an email from Jan, a close friend of mine.

“Should I remove our Dec 26 breakfast at Katy’s from my calendar?  Guess nothing should be entered with indelible ink!!”

Jan referred to a breakfast we had shared with our friend Nadine for many years, always on the morning after Christmas day.  I told Jan, “No, I won’t be there this year.”  This tradition, too, has flowed through my life for the last time.

For more than thirty years my extended family and friends, including Jan and Nadine, have gathered in Carmel for four or five days around Christmas.  We shopped for gifts together, enjoyed eggnog in front of a crackling fire, and competed in an annual cribbage tournament that was always run with a firm hand by my sister-in-law Carolyn.

The day before Christmas I used to spend hours preparing my special spaghetti sauce for Christmas day.  On Christmas Eve we gathered at Tarpy’s, a local restaurant, for dinner and my father’s legendary “lottery” of one dollar-bills (last year grown to twenty-dollar bills).

In the afternoon of Christmas day most of us would go to a movie at the local multiplex.

And finally Jan, Nadine, and I enjoyed our annual December 26 breakfast together at Katy’s restaurant, always Jan’s treat.

No more.  Almost a year ago my wife of thirty-five years and I separated and our family customs changed

Will I miss our Christmas tradition?  Yes, I will.  It was fun to reunite with loved ones, share food and news. I will miss the cribbage tournament which I lost in the finals many times but finally won last year. And no, I don’t miss a tradition which ran its course.

I’ve always been one to dwell on the bright side of my life, so this year I’m starting a new tradition. This Christmas you’ll find me, diet soda in hand, sunning myself on a cruise ship in the Caribbean. My dad will be joining a close friend of his, using those twenty-dollar bills to tip the waiters on his cruise to Acapulco.

Traditions can be wonderful, but it’s also important to allow room for the new and fill your life with change and growth.

After all, the traditions you begin today will be those you look forward to in the future, and back on as they become part of your treasured past.

Alan

What was your best Christmas present ever?

For me there is one answer – my Lionel electric train set that my parents (actually, I think my father) gave me when I was six or seven.

It was a basic set with a single oval track, one engine, and a few cars.  Maybe this was a birthday present, or maybe it was for both Christmas and my birthday because when I was young the price limit on any present in my home was one dollar.  Even in 1946 an electric train set must have cost more than that.  I Googled it and a new starter set today costs over one hundred dollars.

That electric train, now lost to the junk yard of history but not to my memory, was the best Christmas present I ever received even though it was just a basic set.  I loved playing with it in my bedroom for years. I would move the throttle knob on the transformer and my train would race around the track. I could make the engine move slower or faster without even touching it.  If it was going too fast the train would fall off the track when rounding a curve. My fascination may have been rooted in wanderlust but it was also my first experience at controlling something from a distance.

Times have changed.  So have I. Today, with the internet of electronics, I can turn lights on or a thermostat up to warm my home from an airplane a thousand miles away. Even so, the magic of that train set has never left me.

Sprite remembers her best Christmas present was a frying pan that her brother gave her after she moved away to college.  She thought the gift odd when she opened the package, but now says it was the most useful gift she ever received. I can personally attest to that.  With only a frying pan Sprite can create a charming meal out of almost anything.

Sprite also remembers the string of bubble gum under the tree when she was allowed by her parents to open a single present before Christmas.  Sprite and her sisters delighted in chewing all of that gum for days.  And her gift cost less than one dollar at the time.

As you think about your own Christmas shopping this year you might take a moment to remember the present that was the best you ever received.  I’m thinking it wasn’t the most expensive.  I’m thinking it was the most thoughtful, or heartfelt, and that is what made it the best.

Today, at the end of a meeting, a friend read a benediction she wrote. Her words were wise and touching. I asked her to send me a copy, and next week that will be my Christmas present to you.

Meanwhile, tomorrow morning I’m going out to buy an electric train set for my two grandsons, ages three and six.  I know the electric train will compete with all kinds of electronic gadgets and, perhaps, even bubble gum, but I’m going to give it a try, for old time’s sake.

I wish everyone an early, thoughtful Christmas, especially to my dad, now age 102.  Thanks again, Dad, for the Lionel electric train. Almost seventy-five years later it’s still my best Christmas present ever.

Alan

I have spent the past two days doing nothing.  That is, I didn’t do anything I was supposed to do.  On Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, I didn’t even take a shower.

Why would I write about doing nothing?  Because, for me, this is extraordinary. I was introduced to my fiancé, Sprite, by a mutual friend. He told her, “Every move Alan makes has a purpose.” I agree with him.

I grew up with many fixed ideas.  Some of those ideas, such as “you must save money each year”, have turned out to be helpful.  Others, such as “people who exercise aren’t very smart”, have turned out to be horribly mistaken.  Not only mistaken, but unhealthy and against my own self-interest.  I did not exercise on a regular basis until I was sixty years old.  I was severely overweight until I was seventy-three.  My good health is more a matter of good genes and good luck than good habits and brushing my teeth three times a day.

Another one of my youthful ideas, which I continue to live by to this day, is that at every moment I must be working toward one or more of my goals.  Saving money, building a business, improving a relationship – all are targets that I consciously aim for every day of my life.

When my partner George and I founded our law firm we worked twenty-two days straight for twelve hours a day.  After two years I justified one short vacation by telling myself I was actually clearing my mind so I could be more effective at work.

Even now I want to give you reasons – I might, more accurately, say “excuses” – for my two straight days of lying around.

First, I had laryngitis last Thursday and I could hardly carry on a conversation with our guests at our Thanksgiving party.  I strained my voice and set aside Friday and Saturday to recover so I could be ready for work on Monday.

Second, I was setting an example for my fiancé, who is always working toward her own goals and seldom rests.

Third . . . well, even those two reasons are a stretch, but the third is simply that I felt like staying in bed, reading, watching TV, and being pampered.  Two full days in our bedroom just relaxing – I mean, recovering.  What could be more fun?  I mean, what could be more useful?  And Sprite didn’t really have to cook.  She only had to walk down to our kitchen, warm up Thanksgiving leftovers, and carry them back up to our bedroom.

It seems like another of my deep-seated rules for myself is that I have to justify every moment of my life.  To you?  Yes.  To myself?  Absolutely.

Penitentiaries can be less obvious than Alcatraz or San Quentin.  The bars of our individual prisons are the rigid ideas we live by.  These bars are both invisible and fixed.  They keep us working or refusing to work, eating, or not eating certain foods, every day of our lives.  My question is:  which of your own iron rules do you want to continue crouching behind, and which might you want to soften or remove?

But now it’s Sunday and I’m back in my comfortable self-chosen cell, working on this blog and answering last week’s emails.

In half an hour I have an appointment, so it’s back to work as usual for me. I hope all of you had a lovely Thanksgiving and that you too found some time to do nothing. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

Alan