At a festive holiday party last night. My friend Shelley squatted down to talk to one of her sons. Her jeans slid down, revealing a small but significant portion of butt crack.

Without looking at each other or consulting with each other in any way, Gretchen and I both reached for the tray of peanuts on the kitchen counter and went to stick a nut in Shelley's butt.

Obviously, this woman is my soul mate.

The best Christmas song ever? Discuss.

Perhaps my current employer hasn't gotten the memo. The week before and the week after Christmas is supposed to go like this: everyone takes all their leftover vacation time so I - not going out of town or anything - come in to a mostly empty office, surf the internet all day and take three hour lunches.

That's not happening. Most of it is my fault. I said I'd have something done by the end of the month, so I've got that. Plus whatever normal stuff pops up, because as far as I can tell no one is taking any vacation time and everyone will be here right up until Santa comes through and is all like "really, people, go home and be with your families."

And I certainly know you don't talk about your job online, so I'll just say: I'm not complaining. Really! I like my job and my coworkers, and that's a rare thing these days. Lucky me!

***

The holiday plan is low-key. I'm done with shopping. No one else is getting anything, and no one is getting anything else. So there. I'm going to go home and cook sweet potatoes on Friday night, then John and Gretchen and I will go to my sister Julie's house for the big family festival. There will be turkey and presents for the kids and drinking. John will go to his mom's to spend the night and to have Christmas morning with her. Gretchen and I will cuddle on the couch and watch It's A Wonderful Life. Then we'll open presents the next morning and eat cherry turnovers. Jen and James are having brunch that day and we'll probably go to that, which should be delicious.

Then hopefully a little hunting for me and John the next morning. John is all about getting up early - the earlier the better - and he likes putting on hunting gear. His problem is he's not likely to sit quietly for more than an hour or so. The deer will almost certainly hear him. So we'll see. Still, time in the woods with your son is good.

I'm sick.

It's nothing serious. Just a cold. But I had such a good streak going!

Barring an ear infection I had this summer after swimming in my sister's still-icy pool on Memorial Day, I haven't been sick in about two years. In January 2010 - when I was stressed and not sleeping and basically putting out the Bienvenados! mat for any passing bug - I had strep throat.

I'd never had strep throat before. I thought it was just a sore throat with a name. But no! Any other sore throat I'd ever had in my life? Eating was nice - especially chips and salsa, 'cause it was all scratchy on the sore spots - and drinking ice water was a joy. But strep throat? Drinking hurt. Eating was a nightmare. Swallowing was a struggle. Breathing was bad. I was afraid of working those muscles in my throat because of the pain that would go along with it.

(Go ahead and make your bet your boyfriend was disappointed! jokes. Hurr hurr hurr!)

But since then? Over the past two years I've been astonishingly healthy. Not so much as a sniffle.

And what I have now isn't bad. My throats kind of sore, my nose is a little runny, I'm sneezing some.

But I was doing so good!

***

And there's an elf living in my house.

John spent the night with his cousin Friday night, and his cousin had an elf.

"I want an elf to come live at my house!" John told his cousin's elf.

Now there's an elf at my house. He made a mess in John's room. This morning he was sitting over the fireplace, where he had hung a bunch of John's underwear in place of the stockings. He was wearing a pair himself.

Also his name is Pedro. He's swarthy. And bilingual.

I got an e-mail today from my high school. Specifically, from the woman who used to be the yearbook adviser - and one of my favorite teachers, too. She runs the school now, and she sent me a link to the alumni newsletter.

It was fine, full of the stuff you'd expect from a small private high school's alumni newsletter. One thing did catch my attention, though. It was a note from the Dean of Students:

One of my favorite scenes from Dead Poet’s Society is when Robin William’s (sic) character goes to the trophy case to point his students to their heritage - the students who went before them. I get those same goose bumps when I walk down the south hallway...

Well...yeah. I guess. Now, I think the only time I saw that movie was over two decades ago when it was released, because I am very old. And I thought it was fine at the time but I wouldn't rewatch it now because it's full of Robin Williams chewing the scenery and I no longer have the patience for that sort of thing. But! But what I always remember from that scene (and it must have been a pretty good scene for me to remember it over twenty years later) is what John Keating (the character played by Robin Williams, whose name I had to look up on IMDB) tells his students: all these pictures and names and trophies? They were just like you, and they're all dead now. So live now. Don't wait, because the clock is running for all of you.

Now, it's probably not true at my high school - not the everyone being dead part, anyway. The school hasn't been around that long, and I'd bet most of the people in the pictures and the names on the trophies are still alive. That's not the point. The point is that this knucklehead dean took the wrong lesson from this scene. He's wallowing in the comfortable names of the past. He went to school there and graduated a few years before me. I didn't know him, really, but I remember he was really into talking and singing in chapel.

It was a strange school, really, and I'm not sure why my mom sent me there. I went to a Catholics school from third grade to eighth grade, complete with an old Polish priest, strict nuns, and lots of going to Mass - even if you were one of the Protestants. It was a good school, though, and I thought my mom got her money's worth sending me there.

My high school, though? There was a lot of talk about selective admissions and high standards and academic excellence, but the truth was it was where people sent their kids if a) they already went to the church associated with the school, b) they were terrified of sending their kids to school with the (whispers) blacks (end whispers), or c) the kid had shit the bed so badly at their old school (bad behavior, drugs, social ineptitude) that they had no choice but to go to a different school.

I suppose there were some people who didn't fit into those categories. People who both wanted to get a better education for their kids than what the public schools offered (and if someone is charging for the same product the place across town is giving away for free their product must be better, right?) and maybe wanted their kid to get a Christian education, too. I think that was my mom, along with a little bit of (b), above. Around my junior year of high school I realized how much my mom was spending on this school and asked her to let me go to the public high school in town. Also I thought it would be a lot more fun. I knew a lot of kids there, She said no. She spent a lot, too. More than I spent on college, probably.

And what did she get for her money? Well, if you were having trouble in school, I do remember they would really work with you. But I never had trouble. Not a bit. So I think I got an achingly average education. My friends who went to the local public school were far better equipped after graduation than I was.

On the other hand, if I'm playing trivia and a Bible question comes up? I can knock that shit out of the park. I'm not sure four years of college tuition-level money is worth owning a trivia category, though.

I've got no idea what the school is like today, of course. But I'm not sending John to school there. They owe my mom a hell of a refund, I think, and also they wear uniforms. I hate school uniforms.

I spent Saturday morning at the hospital with my girlfriend, Gretchen. She has had some back issues, and her doctor recommended surgery.

It was so quick! We got there at five-thirty. The only other cars on the road in Marion were cops and hunters. She was done and we were sitting at a table outside at Starbucks on Union by noon. I had no idea they could turn things around so fast.

Gretchen works in the same operating room where she had surgery, so she was given the total rock star treatment. It was pretty much an all hands day since they were doing some sort of big inventory project, so there was a stream of visitors and well-wishers giving her high fives and coming by to check on her before surgery.

Gretchen is sober there days, after living an earlier life that could be modestly described as exciting. I'd never been around her when she under the influence of anything more powerful than coffee. What did I find out? That Gretchen gets chatty after she's had a heroic dose of painkillers. And very easy to get along with. Still, I like my sober non-drugged girlfriend. I guess it works for her too, since she's taking more ibuprofen than anything else despite getting some fairly serious drugs to deal with any post-surgery pain.

"It's fine as long as I lay on the couch and stay still," she says, "it's just when I move I feel like I've been shanked."

***

John spent the night with his cousin Friday night so he wouldn't have to get up in the pre-dawn cold and hang out at the hospital all day. He had a fine time. After I went to pick him up we ran a few errands, including a stop at Walgreen's.

"Let's get Gretchen a card," he said, "it'll make her feel better."

Such consideration! And totally unprompted, too. I was proud.

***

Sometimes in life you're faced with a bargain. A literal, cheaper-than-it-should-be bargain. Maybe the circumstances of the bargain make you pause. But you do it anyway.

Case in point: Sonya sent me a text message a couple of weeks ago, letting me know that her girlfriend had sold her truck and asking if I might be interested in buying the bed cover. She concluded "if it fits, and if that wouldn't be too weird."

I love my new truck, but the MPGs could certainly be better. I've heard bed covers help with that.

It is weird, a little. But she didn't want much money for it. And I'd been thinking about getting one anyway.

So I went to their house last night to get John and I put the bed cover on my truck. It fit perfectly.

Some things are meant to be, possibly.

So, pushing a cart full of Christmas toys out of Toy R Us yesterday, and I'm thinking oh time to get back to work not running late at all glad I'm done with shopping for these toys that wasn't that....

And I get to my truck, and I stop. With a cart full of toys. Outside my truck.

My extended cab truck, that has no hiding places whatsoever. My truck that I will be picking up my kid in later that afternoon.

Assuming he still has the power of sight when I pick him up - a likely assumption! - he will notice the pile of toys in the truck if he is at all paying attention. You may be able to slip things by a kid, but a pile of toys? They notice those.

So! I stuff it all in the back of the cab behind the passenger seat, then cover it with my coat. It doesn't quite hide it, but the fold-up rain poncho I have back there covers the rest. Now, there's a big pile of something in the back, covered with coats.

But! When I picked John up in the evening it was black dark. He never even noticed.

Being a parent is all about being sneaky. And fast on your feet.

I don't think I've ever told anyone this before: when I'm thinking hard about something - trying to make an important decision, say, or something like that - I imagine I'm getting together with Harolds of the Past and having a conference with them.

Silly? Maybe. But I've always enjoyed it. And it makes a kind of sense. While they're certainly not my elders (since they all come from my past) or any wiser (that's for sure) they are my predecessors, and my history. And it makes sense that they'd want a seat at the table, too; I'm their legacy. The work they did produced me.

There's heavy metal moron teenager Harold, who really doesn't have much to contribute. He's more interested in hearing about the sex I'm having now. But he's very enthusiastic.

There's a couple of different versions of college Harold: the freshman with black fingernails and eyeliner and the Robert Smith hair, and the senior with the flip-flops and the baseball caps who is usually, more likely than not, a little drunk.

There Downtown Memphis Harold, and pre-John New Orleans Harold. The Harold from the summer of 2003 - who certainly did his own share of introspection - is one of my favorites. There's post-John New Orleans Harold, and there's post-Katrina Harold, both married and not.

We all see eye to eye, for the most part. After all, we're the same guy. But the debate can be lively. And it helps me make my decisions.

For now, though, I'm thinking about me, ten years ago. I'm trying to remember details from December 2001, but I can't come up with much. I was living on Sophie Wright, just over the fence from an Italian restaurant. I had every other Monday off, which was pretty sweet. I bet I went Christmas shopping at Macy's, because I thought going Christmas shopping at Macy's was a pretty Christmas-y thing to do. I think we had a party for the people I was in this drinking group with, with lots of cheesy Christmas music on the stereo. Sonya gave me a PlayStation 2 for Christmas that year. It's sitting beside the TV in my house in Marion now.

He's a good guy, is not-quite-turned-thirty Harold, with his fresh Bettie Page tattooed on his leg and his decent little Lower Garden District apartment. He's a little slimmer than I am, with a bit more hair, but if you know me you know him. You probably did know him.

What to do with this kid?

He would bristle at being called a kid. "I'm 29," he'd say, "that's pretty fucking far from being a kid." And that's true. But still...he's so sure of himself.

He kind of touches my heart, this overgrown kid on the far edge of his twenties.

He's married, been married for ten years. And that's solid. A done fucking deal, as far as he's concerned. No worries in that department. And he's got a job, a government contracting job that should last far into the future. And what does the future look like? A kid, or kids, maybe, if Sonya's medical issues can be worked out. A house, Uptown or in Metairie, maybe. Settling in as just one more eccentric southerner who landed where the eccentric southerners tend to land. But it's all vague, all off in the dim, foggy future. There's no hurry. Plenty of time.

Would I burst his bubble? If I had a time machine and popped up in his living room one day, would I tell him what the next decade really holds? Would I gently - gently! - break the news to him that even the tenuous, tentative plans he has for his thirties are going to get blown away by time and tide (or storm surge, at least) and the actions of others?

"Here's the deal, bud. That job? It won't last. But you will have the kid, and the way you hustle to pay the bills before the kid is born is going to blow your fucking mind. Also, in a couple of years a hurricane is going to come through that will make this less a city and more of a war zone - for a while, anyway. You'll be living in the suburbs then, but it's still going to get you. You'll end up back in Memphis - within earshot of the interstate, which is a pretty good thing, really - but the marriage? It won't make it, either. Sorry about that, even though no sane person would put the blame for that on you. You will be a better dad than you ever imagined, and you will mourn for your grandmother, and you'll develop a taste for good bourbon and the quiet of the woods on a cold fall morning. You'll have good jobs and horrible jobs and you'll drive a couple of second hand Swedish cars. And you'll meet a woman who is like exactly no one you've ever known before, and the way you and her will think alike will amaze you, and make you thankful to God or the universe or whatever put her in your path. So that's the next ten years. Get to it."

What's got me thinking about all that, I guess, is thinking about the next ten years. I'll turn forty in July. My forties will be - will have to be - a time for me to solidify my position. By the time I'm fifty John will be eighteen. Not grown and gone yet, true, but the heavy lifting of raising a son will be near to over. After that he's going to have to handle a lot of things on his own. I've got to set him up for that.

And I've found a job I like, and that I'm good at. During my thirties I worked with the same group of people from 2006 until just a few months ago. Can I work at the same place for ten years? Twenty? Thirty? I wouldn't mind a bit. Settling in for thirty years of this sounds fine to me just now. I can do this.

So here I am again, with vague visions of the future. Do a good job raising my son. Work hard. Save money. Pay off some debts. Beyond that? Grandkids, maybe, though that's not up to me. Eventual retirement, and the opportunity to be a sour old guy. Can't wait for that.

There will be fun, and joy, and happiness. I know how to find some happiness, now. It's a talent of mine. But there will be sadness, and heartbreak. And shit so unexpected it leaves your mouth hanging open, totally gobsmacked by the unlikeliness of it all.

Is that what I've learned from the last decade? Maybe. Make plans, but don't get too attached to them. What happens in my forties is probably going to be stranger than I imagine and stranger than I can imagine. It beats the alternative, though.

***

I tried to write something like this last December, to recap my readers (who are long gone now, I'm sure) and kickstart the blog. It didn't happen. I tried a few times, too. It was all to close and fresh and new, though, so I didn't force it. Here's what I wrote then:

What happened in 2009? I don't know.

Facebook, maybe? That sounds plausible. Which is unfair to 2009, really. It wasn't such a bad year. I changed jobs after a layoff and landed firmly on my feet, which is nothing to take for granted in the midst of America's confused economy. I was part of a cooking team that won first place for our chicken wings. John and I went camping and romping around at Village Creek a few times. I did some hunting. Went to Orlando and visited some theme parks. The Saints had a fantastic season that would see them win the Super Bowl in February. 2009 seemed to be a transitional year, but not in a bad way. Don't think bad of 2009, or wish it ill. It didn't know.

2010? Ah, god. 2010...looking back over it now, safely into 2011, I have to say 2010 was the weirdest year of my life. The first half was probably the worst few months I've ever spent. And the second half? It's been good...weird, but good, and sometimes even great. Spectacularly so.

That's pretty accurate, really. Just after Christmas in 2009 I found out Sonya was involved with someone else. Just after the new year my grandmother died. This all retroactively ruined Christmas. And, seriously, January and February of 2010 were probably the worst two months of my life.

But then! I muddled along until the end of February with no resolution to anything, trying to keep a lid on things in the event that they could be fixed. Then I asked Sonya to move out. And that was pretty horrible, but it was the start of an upswing. Things got better after that.

John and I went camping, which has become an annual spring camping trip. I cooked with my gumbo team. I went to my twentieth high school reunion, which was a surprisingly good thing. I learned, without a doubt, why it's so important to have friends you can count on for absolutely anything. I don't know where I'd be without them.

And last summer, not really meaning to get involved in anything serious, I got involved in something serious with a pretty wonderful woman named Gretchen. It's strange. We come from really - really! - different backgrounds. But somehow we ended up at the same place, with a lot of the same attitudes, and the same tastes, and even some of the same needs. We're a good match, and we work well together. Are we about to get married? Not right now, though I can't see myself with anyone else. I don't know what the future holds, but I know it's good to be close to someone like we're close to each other. I feel like we're pointed in the same direction, most of the time, and that's more than enough for me.

And I met her a year and a half ago. So really all this is old news. 2011 has been good, though. Trips to New Orleans and Hot Springs and the Current River. More gumbo cooking. A new job. A new truck. A finalized divorce - maybe not a good thing, but a thing that had to be done and done as cleanly as possible, which we managed. Long lazy summer afternoons by and in the pool. My family at my house for Thanksgiving. Snow in early December.

So that's me. What have you been up to?