It’s not a typo.  I typed imperfct that way, and even though spell check wants to “correct” my imperfct typing I’m going to leave it that way because no matter how hard I try I’m still imperfct and after seventy-six years of trying not to be I’m going to accept and be happy with myself just as I am and I don’t have to wait until December 31st to make that my single resolution for the New Year which starts on any day I want it to.

I hear my tenth grade English teacher mumbling, “Run on sentence, Alan.  Run on sentence.  Chop it down to bite size bits.”

Well, Mrs. Bischoff, in the more than half a century since we met I haven’t yet managed to chop my life into bite size bits.  I’ve always devoured life in great gulps and I’m not concerned any more about choking on a run-on sentence. Or sentence fragments.  I try to communicate in whatever way best helps me connect with each reader, and if one word will do the trick then I don’t need an entire sentence that some expert could diagram into oblivion.

We all know the usual result of a typical New Year’s resolution.  Failure.  Nothing changes.  I weigh more today than I did on this day last year.  I haven’t written more than a few hundred words on my half-finished novel about how I regularly disappear behind a wall of reticence (which I have disappeared behind again).  Another year of my life has vanished into the same yesterdays that have gobbled every other year of my life.  And that’s perfctly fine with me.

At the moment I’m with a new life partner on a cruise ship in the Caribbean.  I’m not in Carmel preparing to host the “family and friends” Christmas Eve party which has been a fixture in my life for more than thirty years.

Where will I be, how much will I weigh, and what will I be doing on Christmas Eve 2017?  I have absolutely no idea.

We all have dreams.  We always seem to want something more or something better, or, at least, something different than what we already have.  But why not be perfctly happy wherever you are being whoever you are?

Tonight I’m not going to wish for anything more, better, or different.  I’ll finish writing this blog, enjoy a massage in the ship’s spa, and share a light dinner of who knows what with Sprite. Later, while Santa is busy on his rounds, we’ll probably cuddle in our cabin and knock off a few more episodes of Downton Abbey. We’ll fall asleep together when we feel sleepy (as we did last night and the night before),

Tomorrow we’re at sea.  No port of call. No destination.  No dinner reservation.

Sounds like a plan.

Enjoy the day, relish your evening, and find pleasure in the people and places that come your way.

I hope you’ll join me in finding that each day of the New Year always begins today, and that every day is as perfct as they come.

Love,

Alan

I’m sitting at my desk in mid-December in a cold room.  The chill opens my mind to random, peculiar thoughts and memories.

In no particular order:

Until I was in my thirties, I would never leave the room when I was involved in a pleasant conversation.  I was afraid that if I left even for a minute the heart-to-heart would end and a precious connection lost.  Of course, after many such conversations I had to quickly rush to the bathroom.

I thought that no woman liked sex.  I may have been wrong about that.

In my twenties, my wife would sometimes rub the back of my neck while I was driving.  I loved this but thought that if I moved my head she would stop.  I wanted her to continue, so I kept my head fixed in one place, darting my eyes left or right as I drove without turning my head. I never thought to say, “I really like your rubbing my neck, but I’m afraid that if I move my head you’ll stop.”

I was a high school debater and I honestly thought I should have won every debate. In college I became more realistic. There was one debate that I deserved to lose.  My opponent was Lawrence Tribe, now a professor at Harvard Law School and probably the top Constitutional Law expert in the United States.

Come to think of it, I still think I should have won every debate in high school.

When I was sixteen and the proud owner of a new driving permit I borrowed my mother’s car, without permission, to drive to the beach with friends.  When we returned I parked the car on the street in front of our house, ten or twenty feet in front of where it was when I took it.  I thought no one would notice. My dad confiscated my driving permit for six months.

When I graduated from law school I thought that every judge would hear the facts, apply the law, and reach the same conclusion.  That was a whopper.

I believed the first woman who expressed an interest in me was the only one in the world who ever would.  My first wife and I dated for five years and were married for ten.  I lived for three years with the next woman who expressed an immediate interest in me.  I married the third.

I used to believe I could accomplish anything.  I still do, but only part of the time.

I believe I’m an alien.

I don’t think that’s a whopper.

I expect to be idyllically happy every minute of my life.  Maybe just not right now.

When we disagree who do you think I think is right?  You’re right.

I think I should turn on the heat, which is off for the night.

I won’t.

My favorite words when I was two were, “No I not.”  Now my favorite word is “yes,” but in back of that I sometimes still think, “No I not.”

If I speak English loudly enough every person in the world will understand me.

I used to think that if I hurt badly enough for long enough you would give me what I wanted.

I think my editor will suggest I not publish these strange and random thoughts.

Good night soon.

Good night room.

Good night cow jumping over the moon.

Alan

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