Planning a Better Party

The Great Plotnik has said only positive things about this Christmas, because he had such a good time, but he doesn't want his readers to think the Plotnik family is all peaches, cream, macapuno and sugar cones. There were arguments when none were needed, acrimony, appallingly rude and inappropriate behaviors, comments made that would lead to a fight in any bar in America, a general lack of appreciation for the efforts the two people who were doing the lion's share of the work were making, and, on top of everything, a 94-year-old woman who, when she gets too tired, can end up saying things she later regrets. Bombs fly and land on whomever happens to be standing in the neighborhood.

The people who have known her for a long time realize Plotnik's Mom has more courage than the rest of us put together. That she was willing to take herself so far out of her comfort zone and travel to Saint Plotniko for four days was a holiday blessing for us all. Our mixed-up mongrel family lit candles and sang prayers and opened Christmas presents and ate lots of meals and we all got to do it together.



Most of Christmas 2008 was a ball. Christmas Eve Dinner was memorable. Opening presents on Christmas morning took most of a delightful day. Everything Plot and Duck got to do with The Greats PD, BZ, 5H and BB was hysterically fun. Little Bear and Fefnik and Nefnik and FiveHead really pitched in, as did PD and BZ. Vashnik spent countless hours with Isabella. The dinner at Chenery Park was fabulous and last night at Hamano Sushi Plottie drained a lot of hot sake. Hot sake is always good for laughs.

Maybe this is the answer: more hot sake for everyone.

Early in the day on Sunday, Plot DVR'd the Lakers-Warriors game, and later in the evening he sat down on the sofa to watch it. PunkyDunky came in, tumbled down on the sofa, put his head on Plotnik's chest and snuggled up into nap position. The Great FiveHead covered both men with a blanket. The TV rolled on and PD fell asleep while the Great Plotnik stroked his son's beautiful hair (where DID he get that hair, anyway?), barely paying attention to the TV screen. If he could have felt more contented, he doesn't know how.

So here is how this all relates to planning a better party. What getting together is all about, in the end, is managing to get to that moment of supreme contentment, of rubbing someone you love's hair, while they snuggle on your shoulder. If you don't get to hang with the people you love, if you don't work it out so you will have that quiet time with them, to talk, to relate, to understand what their year has been like and they yours, then what's the point? The food is great and the presents are great but they are means, not ends. The purpose is to retie the knot, each person with each other person.



Some people won't want to do that, they're not built that way. That's OK, too. But if Plotnik and Ducknik really want to plan a fun party, they have to change a lot of things. They've been doing too much and expecting too much in return. Less will be more. Shorter will feel happier. For Plotnik's pleasure, he has to spend more time with BZWZ, more time with his brother and less time trying to figure out who is mad at him and why.

Perhaps in this way the Southern Cal Plots could take something out of Christmas other than frustration and relief that it's over. Plot loves each and every one of them, but always ends up feeling like he caused a fight instead of throwing a party. It would be nicer not to feel this way.



On the other hand: Isabella singing "I love you Papa, oh yes I do." BZWZ hanging up her "The Hands that Cradle the Rock" (Association of Women Geophysicists) refrigerator magnet. Nefnik and Plotnik walking down to get bagels on Saturday morning. Belly's never-to-be-forgotten bath. Fefnik's mango/onion/avocado salad. Little Bear's constant smile. The Great FiveHead's sweet, supportive heart. Watching the Lakers whip the Celtics. And, of course, Ducknik, who gamely tries each year to recreate the Christmases she remembers as a child, for a family who knew basketballs on Christmas Day, not sleds. Plottie is a lucky man and he knows it.