I'm going all-in old fogey here.

So happy to be home, where I can have my little patterns. I understand the psychological reason why change becomes more difficult as we age. I have that in me.

But I also have additional reasons for the comfort of a routine.

First, I really haven't been able to have that for at least three years now and I probably could go back even longer as I have moved too much. Let me say this so the reader can understand: I HAVE MOVED TOO MUCH.

There you go yet it is the life I've lived.

In the past, my patterns have included every Saturday morning, I made a cheese omlette with a side of cantaloupe and either decent coffee or tea. My Saturday night was making dinner while listening to "Prairie Home Companion." Sunday morning, I'd eat breakfast out while reading the Sunday New York Times. My kid, the recent college graduate, at age 10 referred to the Sunday Times as "dad's girlfriend" because we couldn't begin the day without me picking her up.

I'm not so much and old fogey, though, as setting parameters about how life is lived. I read as a young man that Albert Einstein had seven suits that were exactly the same. The point was he didn't have to waste thought on what he'd wear that day.

I am no Einstein. 

But the lesson I learned was I ought to concentrate time and thought on important issues and forego the small stuff.

A regular routine does that for me. It reduces the pressure of change.

Routine also allows me to bask in more special moments that matter more than the mundane. I love my friends and family. I love eating Italian in Boston with Kid who would not allow me to tell Mafia jokes because, as she said, "they are here."

So I am home. I will settle in. I'll maintain a schedule.

Then I will enjoy something strange, miraculous, maybe even life-changing fun.

And I'll tell the story here.

Peace unto Ukraine and peace and funky life stories unto all of you my brothers and sisters.