Thursday, January 1, 2026. Better get used to writing 2026. Then again, I sometimes lose the plot with regard to time, especially decades. I can’t believe that the 1990’s were 30 years ago. It is a fact that they were, but lost in the corridors of my mind, feeling like I am in my forties, or on good days, my thirties. I am perplexed by the calendar year.

Whereas in the past few years, I’ve generally had a Beatles calendar, or a Warhol calendar, this year I got a Banksy calendar, which is more or less unlicensed, I’m certain. The Gifted Stationery Company, developed in Great Britain, was printed in China. A little bit of buyer’s remorse.

Bill is on the road, south of the Mason-Dixon line. Presently, in the state, kids like to spell out. He’s been flying all over the place and is on the last leg of this current excursion. Then there is another immediately following.

In his place, our son, Mike. He’s been outstanding. Just pleasant to be around. He does his thing, I do mine, eventually they overlap. It’s been fun. We’ve been having a good time. We’ve shot videos for the groups on social media that we are a part of.

I sometimes wonder what people that I have introduced Mike to think. We were out briefly yesterday and ran into the delightful Eileen Quinn. We chatted briefly, and I introduced Eileen to Mike. Sometimes, when Bill and I introduce Mike to someone, we sometimes tell them that Mike is our son.

And in so many ways, he is. He calls Bill and me his Dads. And we call each other Son or Dad when in the apartment. Spillover is to be expected, I suppose. It been most pleasant having Mike here. Being alone does not do me any good, and Mike ably steps in. Gone are the nitpicking arguments and the resentment that followed.

This past Sunday, I hung out with RoDa, which has been something I’ve been meaning to do for quite some time. I brought some Christmas cookies, some THC seltzers, and a prerolled flower. Of course, RoDa had his own offerings. We sat, we smoked, we drank seltzer, and talked. I was quite smoked out. RoDa was gracious enough to allow me to smoke a cigar while there.

I lost track of time and space as RoDa talked; I was all over the place in the corridors of my mind. I never noticed before that when RoDa tells a story, he also does the voices of people he was talking about, which, in my clouded state, was amazing.

And before that, on Christmas, Mike, Bill, and I went to Garfield for yet another lovely dinner prepared. We were joined by my niece Meghan, her husband Rob, and their awesome daughter Shelby. I came prepared with a gift, something I bought near the fruit stand on an excursion into Manhattan with Mike.

Wait, I wrote that already. The Mary Had a Little Lamb post. I guess I am caught up. I’ll just watch Sherlock again, drink a Wild Cherry seltzer, and smoke an Asylum cigar that my son Mike gave his Dad.