Rock 'n' roll, portable urinals and screaming lobsters. These are a few of my favorite things.

Hello again. I hope everyone is doing well and that you’re enjoying the holiday season. It’s safe to say that, personally, 2016 wasn’t exactly a terrific year. If I could make a Christmas wish list right now, it would include a new job, at least one week devoid of handling paperwork associated with trusts and wills, and some semblance of political stability and world peace as we enter the New Year.

Not a lot to ask, right?

Well never mind all that crap. I have a better Christmas list. I thought it would be fun to jot down a few things about the holiday season that make me smile. If anyone is reading, I hope you’ll share your own favorite memories in the comments section.

And if we don’t talk anytime soon, Happy Holidays. And be good to each other.

Stretch Armstrong. Good old Stretch. One of my first-ever Christmas gifts. Seems silly that a kid could get so much joy out of pulling the arms and legs of a doll all day, but hey, it worked. And I heard they’re still selling them after all these years. Hmm. Santa, is it too late to ask?

Christmas rock music. Everyone loves the classics by Bing Crosby, Andy Williams and the rest, and that’s OK. But give me “Father Christmas” by The Kinks. “Run Rudolph Run” by Dave Edmunds. “What Christmas Means to Me” by Stevie Wonder, and so many others. If you like the blues, check out Charlie Musselwhite’s version of Silent Night, too.

Dad assembling the Barbie motor home. I wish I still had this picture, and I think it’s in an album at my parents’ old house. It’s my Dad sitting in his favorite chair, surrounded by Barbie paraphernalia and countless plastic parts that constituted the Barbie Star Traveler Motorhome RV Camper. While the rest of us tore into our gifts, Dad sat there patiently for the better part of Christmas morning putting this thing together for my sister one year. It wasn’t an issue for him, the man was a carpenter and could fix, repair and build just about anything. I just had the sense that he would have much rather been sipping some egg nog, opening his own gifts or reading the morning paper at the time. Didn’t matter. He loved his kids and wanted to see them happy.

Jeff D. asking to go sledding on Christmas. We had snow on the ground for Christmas on many years in New England, but one particular Christmas morning it piled up nicely and didn’t stop snowing all day. That prompted an 8 a.m. phone call from a buddy down the street, who was hell-bent on going sledding. As I extracted my carcass from piles of wrapping paper and toys, I still remember picking up the phone, hearing Jeff’s request and asking him if he had lost his mind because it’s Christmas morning and I’m kind of in the middle of something. Later I remembered that Jeff was Jewish. We clearly had different priorities that day.

My wife’s Xmas cookies. They’re really good. And there’s always lots of them. Honestly, I can’t even see the back of the freezer right now, it’s packed so tightly with peanut butter balls, schnecken, Hershey’s Kiss cookies and peppermint bark. Pretty soon I won’t be able to see my feet, either, if I eat any more of this stuff.

Stocking stuffers. Sometimes, these things have even more sentimental value than the presents under the tree. Last year, I got a ticket to Bruce Springsteen, for cryin’ out loud. That was pretty awesome. And those Dunkin’ Donut gift certificates, man. Always a winner.

Wacky gifts. In high school, after we had spent time with our own family, we often spent Christmas evening with two of my good friends and their families. These were great times. And one friend’s grandmother had this incredibly wacky sense of humor. I loved this woman. She gave me a urinal one year. A portable urinal. She said I could use it in the car if I ever got stuck on a long road trip. Then she gave my buddy a mounted turkey claw with the middle finger (toe?) sticking straight up. Still makes me laugh after all these years.

Screaming lobsters. My parents always ate lobster on Christmas Eve. I never cared for it, which was surprising, because I’m a huge fan of seafood in general. But that’s beside the point. My Mom and Dad told me one year the lobsters scream when they’re placed in boiling water. I thought this was ridiculous until I heard this high-pitched hissing that emerged from the pot when one of these guys took a dip. Sufficiently freaked me out, I won’t lie. Now, as I learned later, lobsters don’t have vocal chords and technically couldn’t scream. And if you want the scientific explanation to all this, check out this little snippet I found on Chowhound.com. OK, enough about that.

Working in Florida on Christmas 2000. This isn’t exactly a fond memory. I had moved to Gainesville just after Thanksgiving that year, and I had already determined that I wouldn’t be going home for Christmas. And they don’t close for the holidays in the newspaper business, so I volunteered to work that day/night and give the other reporters a break to be with their families. Saddest Christmas ever. It wasn’t just the feeling of being alone, but driving around town in 75-degree temperatures and seeing white lights wrapped around palm trees. Argh. Gimme a break. That ain’t Christmas.

The kids on Christmas morning. I know, I know, the holiday isn’t really about the gifts. But I still get a kick out of seeing them go bonkers under the tree, checking out what Santa brought and getting completely caught up in the moment. It’s not going to last forever and I’m going to enjoy it while I can.