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

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