The most wonderful/toughest time of the year

I'm not looking for any sympathy. I choose to move away from my loving family and friends to have an adventure before I thought I'd settle down.

I didn't know the journalism world would quake at its foundations as hard as it has (I was wishful thinking, and then we're nearly all in the same boat, same reasons or not.) or I never thought I'd wind up in the kind of chronic physical pain I wouldn't wish on a Kardashian (I have gotten down to nearly my high school weight, though.).

But Maui is still very, very, very good to me. And I try my best to be good to it.

I try to have a life and be good as I still recover from a couple surgeries this year. That and work keeps me busy.

But I do miss my family (Not bad enough to go on unemployment and Cobra, though. Bah da bah.).

I found something out the other day. My mom's work cell phone wasn't in use. I kept trying to reach her but only got voicemail, and I was worried cause she's always traveling for her job. Then I realized something. We've Skyped as a family during Thanksgiving. My sisters must have at least three email accounts each, not including Twitter and Facebook.

I called mom and Geno's home number (An actual land line.) and like a fool I realized she, and I, must have at least 10 ways to reach each other almost immediately today -- and none of those includes actually knocking on my door (Which I can't do, but could have our neighbor do in a minute.)!

Well, when you happen to be one of those freaks like me who actually loves his family and has friends managed to hang out with every day that he's known for at least 15 years: Technology doesn't cut it. With friends, sure, it does feel a bit better to have a conversation on the phone or face to face, even if it's on a screen, compared to in the 'rents.

But what I miss are my friends and sisters and brothers knocking on my screen door. And then we might pile into a car and head to the Anchor for bottle of Summit for $2.50 and The Anchor, the best burger ever.

(It's the only dive ever that serves ground chuck on a griddle that's never been cleaned; where everyone eats lunch including the mayor, almost-billionaires and federal judges, but where no one eats dinner, 'cept people like me and my friends who just keep talking whenever we get the chance.) I miss second that best in this world, next to the ability to carry a backpack yet on a trail. (Did I mention fresh-cut fries? Geez, tangents.) There's an honest-to-goodness really cute and very mean waitress at The Anchor with piercings and the stereotypical heart of gold who still has a tendency to toss out the decently clothed drunkard, but mostly cause it's past lunchtime and he's annoying and she can.

Well, I've talked through everything with those fellas in dives listening to good music and bad, with good girlfriends and bad. And there was always basketball on Saturdays in the church and poker twice a month during winter with quarter antes. And you can eventually figure out either the meaning of life or best point guard ever other than Jordan. Hey, we even had a book club. I have friends who are girls who don't dig guy things, like when Duy dropped the gun outta the back of his pants (Ha. Conceal carry safety class didn't stop that one, Du.).

I just saw them all while home for my brother's wedding. I was still in pain and wished we could still kick it cross the state lines in a "borrowed" car. They were amazing still, and all grown up with kids and wives. I'll have that. I gotta battle with my back to win first.

I know for sure I missed a few really great chances there, though, cause I was an idiot guy. But I'm not dumb enough to ever go back either. Gotta get back out there.

But I have no plans to move. No one gives up their dream career, especially these days AND ESPECIALLY ON MAUI. You fight for everything. And you pray people keep reading and caring what's up in their town. The people are great at what they do, too. That counts for a lot, as many of you know.

Thing about getting older, though, is that while homesick is awful, you know you can make a home of your own with that right person, someday.

There is no cure, though, or way to justify yerself outta missing your parents. You're friends you can talk to. You can see them once a year (Dave, can't wait to you and Kara get here! You, too, Sarge and Jen!) and no matter how close you all are, you know if you were ever that lucky to have buds like that, it'll all be good.

Parents, though. And Christmas? Come on.

Being that freak I am who has a healthy relationship and successful folks, who can afford to go all out with the decorations (Don't care. The mechanical reindeer are ugly on my street. But the lights my stepdad does on the single pine near the street is perfect. And the 150 Santas my stepmom has and full-blown minitowns my mom builds are magical objects, people.)

Not in my house. Ever. But they do it perfect. And I miss that. Ham AND prime rib dinner. Potatoes au gratin with enough cheese to choke an entire family if we eat too fast. Socks in my socking. Real fireplace. Sauna and snow jumps. And the whole other 364 days, too. Joke there.

It's early, but Mele Kalikimaka, which only took me about three years to learn to say. So I ain't leaving if I don't have to. I miss my friends and family like heck. And if I didn't right now, (They live in Minnesota with ice fishing, snow and skiiing and hockey, whether I can play or not again. Yet.) I would be a sociopath not to miss them all for a thousand reasons each. And I won't let this pain beat me.

Let's face it, these are special people, too. They actually like me. That is hard to find. I treasure it. I might write another one of these in a couple days. Maybe then I don't have to buy presents. A blog for each friend instead, picture included.

Hope you all have as much to be thankful for and I pray for those with less. Saying that better not be the thing that gets me fired.

Off the Plane is a jumble for everyone, I think. No matter how long. What matters is how far. I'm pretty far. But I gotta believe it's all OK. For the record, I can never get sick of seeing Christmas lights on a palm tree anyway. That might be good enough for another five years.