You should know that this is in a sense the dullest Advent Letter I recall writing: no crises, no firings, no court cases running, no major medical, ecclesiastical, or family problems. To state this more positively, things have been going so smoothly lately that I occasionally find myself pausing to try to identify a problem - old habits die hard.

Final immunization shot, department holiday party, quick detour to the dentist (the Windsors aren't the only ones with a shaky crown) and farewell to work for the remainder of the year. A majestic Christmass Midnight mass at the Advent, another in the morning, and conclusion of Boston celebrating with Jessica and one of her colleagues at the birthday party brunch so magnificently done at the Ritz in honor of the Christ child. After seeing them off to their cardiac work at the hospital (a fitting work at this commemoration of the Saviour's invasion of our hearts), made a quick change in the airport-bound taxi from clerical propriety to vacation informality.

Already with the shuttle Boston>JFK, the trip began more happily than the previous year's loss of luggage and hostage incident. The pax next to me (a grad student at MIT) noted the inclusion of Penang on my itinerary; as that is her home, I ended up a few weeks later being hosted by her family in Malaysia at a barbecue. The good experience continued once aloft on Singapore Airline's flight, well validating its reputation as the best international carrier. Their attendants have an unique capacity to make you feel you're their only passenger aboard. During our stop at Brussels, had a chance to phone Christmass greetings to Claudine, there for the holidays with her family.

Two-thirds of the capacity load leaving at Brussels, the crew had a bit of a breather during the next 14 hours to Singapore, could really get into the seeming pleasure of catering to us with elan. One would think a day spent aloft could not end too quickly; on the contrary, was sorry the experience ended the next morning with touchdown in Singapore. Two consolations, however: first, it was 90F (32 C), as compared with a wind chill of 5F (-15C) back in Boston. One day while there, I was treated to the coincidence of Boston and Singapore having the same temperature range, 22>31 - Boston's, however, being F, and Singapore's, C. The second consolation; I had been booked into the Goodwood Park, a grand old relic of the last century, recently completely refurbished, a happy respite from the plastic-and-chrome behemoths the chains are wont to plop down in every corner of the world.

An illustration: I had been marvelling that, every time I returned to my room in the course of my stay in Singapore, it had been refreshed. Once, however, thought I had them: right after leaving, returned to fetch a forgotten item. Oops: there was the chambermaid leaving, profuse in her apology for being tardy in tending to me. Another; as I came down to breakfast the second day, my waiter having noted that I had gone out to the pool for a cigarette after breakfast the day before ($500 fine for smoking in any public room in the Republic), he had set a table by the pool for me, that I might enjoy a cigarette with my breakfast.

The note about the smoking fine leads to the observation that Singapore takes pride in being the finest place in the world: litter ($500 fine), chew gum in public ($500 fine), urinate in an elevator ($1,000 fine), and so on. When I queried residents about the abrogation of individual liberties in the island-state, they without exception replied that, given its dearth of natural resources (even the drinking water has to be imported, and the massive public housing projects require landfill) and the commitment to the good of all, they were happy to give up a bit. It does work: no civilized place on earth is cleaner, no queues more civilized, no traffic regulations better observed. A note in the press that a French tourist was executed for drug running while I was there made poignant the flight attendant's admonition as we arrived that Singapore has zero drug tolerance. Very simple: drug dealers are subject to summary execution; anyone with three joints is presumed to be a dealer. The debate about individual liberties versus the common weal is rather fuzzier in Singapore than in our dirty, crime-threatened, chaotic cities.

After a few days of lazy wandering about town (having done my duty as a tourist there on previous visits), left my known world for Kota Kinabalu, the capital of Borneo. By the way, the maps show Borneo to be Sabah, a part of Malaysia; no resident of the island portion of the state would admit that fact to be anything more than a formality whose only effect is a net loss of resources to Peninsular Malaysia. Even the Philippines dispute ownership of Borneo, claiming that the Sultan of Brunei had given Borneo to them; that gift, however, was without documentation. Almost all of colonial KK had been levelled by the Allies during WWII in order to get rid of the occupying Japanese. The one wooden structure still standing from colonial days in fact burned to the ground during my New Year's Day tour of the Kinabalu National Park. The Park is the site of the world's oldest rainforest, formerly exploited and threatened with devastation as others throughout the world. Happily, the government of Sabah is wakening to the threat, has begun strict management of the rainforest. The orchids, from almost microscopic to gigantic; the animals making Jurassic Park seem a contemporary reality; the climate in the forest making a sauna feel like a cooler. Altogether, not a bad way to welcome in a new year! While in KK, occasional 15-minute rainshowers were welcome, bringing the temperature and humidity down. And I can't leave KK without noting their food: a seafood buffet capped with previously unknown squid soup; varieties of vegetables I couldn't name; salads to turn any vegetarian into a gourmand.

Having brought in the New Year for the first time without alcohol (the celebration didn't make quite as much sense to me in this new mode), was to be brought further into the past a few days later with flight down to Sandakan where, if my tour went as planned, was to meet the Wild Man of Borneo at his breakfast.

Well, two hours of muddy slogging through jungle brought me one of the most memorable events of my travels - the Orangutan Rehabilitation Center at Sepilok (lucky I got there, as tourists are no longer permitted to visit the Center: they were inhibiting a major objective of the Center - the return of orphaned and injured orangutans to their native habitat). It's a remarkable place, orangutans being shipped in from around the world to spend as long as 15 years in preparation for return to the wild. This is accomplished by a gradual diminution of human intervention, going from daily individual nursing to placement further and further in the wild. An important element here is the view in Borneo that the orangutan has evolved from his human forebears rather than vice-versa. Thus the respect and affection with which the inhabitants of the Center are treated. Some of you might have read, however, of the bad fortune of a French tourist last year: he left his group, was alone in the Center. That's all Raja needed: this naughty chief of the inhabitants has not yet - in spite of punishments, denial of treats, and isolation from his kin - learned to behave. Raja approached the errant tourist and stripped him; the hapless tourist fled the park, only to come into a group of visiting dignitaries. They of course assumed the tourist to be the Wild Man of Borneo of whom we've all heard.

Met another resident of personal interest - Jessica. This Jessica was - at 14 - already the doting mother of a two-year-old son. She and her kin were all hams, lolling lazily in the trees until we'd approach; they'd then get into a chattering and cavorting through the branches and hamming it up with the hope we'd disobey the rangers and give them a treat.

Was fortunate that it was Hawkers' Night back at the hotel: once a week, a multitude of street vendors from the city set up their carts around the hotel's pool. I'm fortunate to have been alerted to arrive early and stay late, as dinner was a tour of native specialties - boiled squid, steamed fish, barbecued duck, Hong Kong barbeque, Indian satay, cakes, fruits, and so on. Called it quits with fresh strawberry ice cream. The food well reflects the cultural diversity of Sandakan: a Chinese village built out over the water, a Buddhist temple, a crocodile farm, a public market that advertises its fish to your nose while you're yet blocks away. The tourists haven't yet flocked here; as all places still relatively pristine, our hope that it will remain so will probably lose out to commercial exploitation.

On leaving Sabah, was surprised to be subjected to customs formalities on the way up to peninsular Malaysia; the insularity of Borneo extendes even to the state's non-recognition of Federal regulations. Stopped for several days at Penang, a major island resort. Yes, it was nice to be given an upgrade to a penthouse suite; yes, the manager's reception was really swell; and yes, the facilities and service were impeccible. However, I didn't come half way round the world to listen to swank Yanks and Germans go on about how they prefer Monaco to Cannes, etc. Those people and conversations are available in Miami. Happily, met up with a business journalist who was in Penang doing a piece on out-of-the way native dining establishments. Just what I needed: it led to several sorties into what was left of the native regions of Penang, areas I would else not have been able to find. Also, down on the hotel's dock evenings local kids would pass their time strumming native tunes on guitars; recording that was a much more rewarding pastime than enduring the racket of the hotel's with-it discotheque.

Happily escaped from that last resort to normalcy with an excursion down to George Town, Penang's capital. It's so native and underdeveloped that the tourists avoid it; thus it's little changed from colonial times, when the British arrived to develop rubber plantations. Tourism and electronics assembly work are the two developing industries here. I'll vote for the electronics work: it seems to have less negative impact on local culture.

Finally out of Penang with a flight up to Phuket in Thailand for Club Med #21 (only 99 left to check out). On leaving Penang, checked out my weather log for the trip: during this "rainy, monsoon" season, experienced less than one hour total of rain. The good weather followed me up to Phuket, which is in the southern part of the country, quite different in climate, cuisine, and custom from northern Thailand met during a previous visit.

Phuket, while sharing the routines, the great food, the nightly shows, and the well-organized tours of all the CM's, was unique in its laid-back atmosphere. Perhaps its greater distance from the West prevents the younger, more frenetic habitues of the other clubs from getting there. A large number of the people, in fact, come down from France and Italy every year. So, a good restful time (sure - daily excursions to an elephant farm, to Phang Nga Bay where a James Bond movie had been shot, to a Thai wrestling match, to native dancing exhibitions; two trips out to a deserted island for the crazy picnics endemic throughtout CM-land; sorties into the local towns for souvenirs; rehearsing for hamming up during the weekly show put on by the members). Also unique to this Club: it has four dining areas - one Thai, one Chinese, one French, and one Italian; take your choice of which cuisine you favor, or be a glutton and take one course in each.

The single best feature of this Club, however, is its Mai Thai annex restaurant. Now, all of the CM's have such an annex, a smaller, more serenic venue for dinner when you think to book early and wish to get away from the crowds. Hoeever, here at Phuket it's so much more: located at the end of the Club's property, several hundred steps up to the top of a hill overlooking the Club and the ocean. The annex itself is done in the style of a Thai temple, with dining out on the skirting verandah. An atmosphere beyond compare: as you dine, the tropical moon comes up over the hills opposite and slowly bathes the ocean with its orange fire. And the food! Turns out we had a chef for the annex who was a real artist, took pride in doing up a spectacular piece de resistance each evening. Fortunate for me, my first night there the annex was swamped with diners all arriving at once; I offered to assist the maitre d' with seating the guests and taking their beverage orders. okay, I'm in, no need to make reservation on subsequent evenings; my table was waiting for me. Haven't decided which I enjoyed more: two hours of leisurely dining, checking out most of the buffet offerings, or assisting guests in getting to tables with choice views and recommending this or that specialty of the evening to them. Perhaps that's a new career waiting for me. At any rate, I was tempted to return to Phuket this year, if only for its Mai Thai restaurant. I say without fear of challenge that it was one of the outstanding dining experiences of my life.

So idyllic my time at Phuket, I was able to prolong my stay there an extra day, giving up the day of shopping in Singapore I had intended for the end of my trip. Finally, however, had to quit the Club at sundown for a flight down to Singapore, there to hook up with the midnight express back to New York. Gaining back the 12 hours I had lent at the beginning of the excursion, was already in Boston just after noon that same day!

Upon return to Boston, found the latest add-on for Rufus (remember him, the neat computer I had gotten at conclusion of my travails with the Sheriff a year before?): a CD-ROM drive. Now you computer-literate lectors will have to bear with us neophytes for a bit while I wax rhapsodic about evolving technology. It's not so many years ago that storage capacity of computer peripheral devices was measured in kilobytes, a page of text taking up about 5k. Then we went on to megabytes: my first computer could store 20 meg (about 20,000 pages); this new one, 300,000 pages. It would have seemed to me we were gettting up there in capacity.

Now, however, along come CD-ROMS, drives which store data on the siblings of the compact disk. This little piece of plastic stores on the order of 600,000 pages. So, on getting a CD-ROM drive, I now begin to build a new library in miniature, this one having certain advantages over the paper library we're all familiar with. It presents, not only text, but full-motion video and sound. Nice when you're perusing an atlas on CD-ROM to point to a country: the flag of the country unfurls up a flagpole as the country's national anthem plays! Further, once inside the article, point to an unknown foreign term and it will be pronounced for you. Now I know that the coming generation of computer hackers will take all of this for granted, and that we're coming to such incredible data compaction that it is not beyond conceiving of every home having within it a storage device containing the whole Library of Congress.

We're hearing a lot about the coming information superhighway, the marrying of several emerging technologies to bring immense amounts and varieties of data to us. I see some problems here, however. Just as the last paragraphs refer to rapid escalation from kilobytes to megabytes (and now to gigabytes!), so the data available to us through interconnected computers is already overwhelming. For example, I now subscribe to an E-mail list comprised of alumni of Brown University. Any subscriber is able to post anything they find interesting to this list. Result: on any given day there might be as many as several dozen messages from all over the world on subjects ranging from the firing of the football coach to Brown's policies on linking admissions to financial need to the correct text of the Alma Mater to Annenberg's gift to Brown's program for improving public education.

What's scary here is that this list is but one of several tens of thousands of such lists to which anyone with a computer and a modem can subscribe, not to mention the Dow Jones news service or the National Weather Service's detailed forecasts, etc. What I'm getting at is the phenomenon of information gridlock: so much information is becoming available to us that we are going to have to come up with better means of sifting through and selecting which data we want to see.

Speaking of information gridlock, I've got to curb my enthusiasm for this once-yearly conversation with you. Else, neither I nor you will ever finish it, and I'll not be ready to start on this year's vacation. Briefly, now:

Things continue well at MIT. As the Athena Computing Environment becomes ever more pervasive in our work, so support for more platforms (originally the IBM- compatible UNIX environment, now emerging the Macintosh environment, and coming into view the DOS world is being developed. A simplification to computer novices: these different systems are like a car, a boat, and a rocket - each moving you along, but each with different methods and capacities. I might soon have a DOS box added to the UNIX and MAC boxes on my desk at work, so I'll be a non-technical tester of the emerging work. Never dull!

Just before the holidays last year, the Campus Police at MIT had held a seminar about office security and steps people can take to enhance it. Following the seminar, I suggested we marry our concern for security in our building with the progress being made in electronic communication. We developed an E-mail list of people in all the offices in a building. As soon as somebody notes a suspicious person, event, or circumstance, they have but to tap a brief alert into their workstation and send it off to the list: the whole building is immediately alerted. We've since set up a second list for the buildings in our corner of the campus, as felons characteristically go from building to building in their nefarious activities. Since we began this, incidents of stolen purses, personal property, and office accouterments have gone down 90%.

Good news/bad news with my Church work: the parish lost one of our curates to New York this year; replacing him is going to take a while. In the interim I and a retired priest have been given added duties at the Advent; for me the great joy of being Deacon of the Mass every Sunday. In the past, this would be my duty during the Summers when one or another of the paid clergy was on vacation. Now that it looks like it's going to be an ongoing billet, the rector decided I should have singing lessons. Turns out that everyone had with charity said nothing of my untutored groping for the right note when chanting in the past; after all, it was a temporary inconvenience. Now, however, that I've had the first singing lessons in my 55 years, people's positive reactions to whatever improvement has been made so far alerts me to just how badly I must have been sounding all these years.

Also, the Parish has been stabbed recently by a cabal of rebels (the most unlikely alliance of a diversity of malcontents one could imagine), each wanting to "fix" one or another of the rector's "defects." This rebellion has had the unintended effect of causing the previously silent parishioners to give overwhelming and unequivocal support for the course the Rector is on. Hopefully this irritant will have been finally addressed and put to rest by the time I return from vacation.

Claudine and Jessica have had to make sad trips to Belgium this year as Jessica's grandmother declined precipitously, happily having all her loved ones with her as she finished this life. The recently-announced merger of Mass General (the hospital where Jessica works) with the Brigham has introduced another uncertainty into her career track, which apart from that apepars to be flourishing.

Having complained that, between our reunion years, Brown's development office makes little use of us Head Class Agents, I was delighted this Fall to be part of a weekend workshop for this group of alumni. It had seemed silly to me to make use of us - who are by function among the most enthusiastic Brown boosters - only once every five years. Maybe I'll come to regret it, but the staff put together an excellent program for us, including tickets for a Brown football game.

Years later, I continue as uninterested in football as during my undergraduate days, thought to give my Godson/nephew a call. He said he had something scheduled, but would join me for coffee. This turned out to be quite an event for both of us: though we have been together countless times during family gatherings, this was our first ever opportunity to get to know each other individually. The cup of coffee extended into a whole afternoon spent together. Could be the family is right that Tommy has many characteristics in common with me, but I find him to be a delightful, witty person to be with. Brown thus did me a greater favor than they could have imagined.

Was delighted to get a visit from a couple I had met Windjamming some years ago. From Colorado, Bill & Becky wanted to see Salem and Plimouth Plantations. How lucky I was that they did, as I too for the first time saw the witch trials enacted and the Plimouth settlement brought to life. A strange juxtaposition, but we also went to see Nunsense; don't think I've seen a more hilarious presentation of "religious" life.

The Cooperative in which Jessica and I have our homes continues to thrive. There was some concern earlier this year when six of the units were going to be vacant. However, with diligent work by many members, the obvious value of the co-op sold all of the vacant units. Whenever new people join the co-op, they enhance the quality of life we're sharing. One of the members has been investigating the refinancing of our mortgage. When she takes our income, vacancy, and turnover data to bankers, they are incredulous that a place with such a low monthly charge could be adding as we are to our equity.

Studying the figures, and the numbers for comparable buildings in Boston, it is clear that our device is the "limited equity" feature: when someone leaves us, they have to sell their share back to the co-op at the same price as they had bought it, with additions permitted for capital improvements to their unit (within limits) plus a modest annual increase in share value. Thus, there is no real estate speculation, which I believe to be the major driver of the astronomical rents that people in our neighborhood are paying. Further, having only the owners living in the building contributes immesurably to the overall quality of live and interdependence we enjoy.

Got an urgent call from an attorney I've been assisting with a jail suicide case: the defendants had apparently gotten around to studying the deposition I had done a year ago, were concerned at the impact of my conclusions and opinions, wanted to take still another deposition from me. This seemed rather silly, as I had no more information than was available when they first deposed me. Oh well, it's their money (and a welcome bonus for my vacation). Flew to Texas, spent a day being deposed. Turns out they (each of the five law firms) were trying to get me to aim blame at one of the other defendants. That excursion went well, will be followed by trial in Wichita Falls TX (!) early next year.

Having spent a few decades passing the 4th of July. Thanksgiving, etc., at the Jail, it's been a real pleasure to be able to be with family at festive times these past few years. Additionally, saw many relatives from distant places at the wedding of my niece Jill in July.

So life goes on, just as do the clock and calendar. I'm getting perilously close to the time for final packing, arranging, and emplaning, so shall quit this with a bit of a preview of the coming trip. When I got back home last January, had had such a wonderful time that I decided to try getting back to Southeast Asia. Got an alpha listing of possible destinations, came first to Bangladesh (so impovershed that it would be hard to write glowingly of Dacca); then Bali (down at the far east end of Indonesia - had been there for a day years ago, but not to its Club Med - possible for part of the trip); finally to Bhutan (closed to outsiders until recently, its king vigorously committed to keeping to the traditions - no nails in construction, no Western dress, etc.). Hmm....

Well, that began a lot of study, exploiting every skill my travel agent Bob Malmberg has acquired in his years in the industry. One problem; to prevent the spoiling of Bhutan, the king requires the few tourists he allows in each year to travel in groups. I don't mix with groups. So it was a pleasure when talking with the Bhutanese travel office last month, upon asking how large my group would be, learning that Bob's done a bit of a first: I'm a group of one! So. Boston to Bangkok after Christmass Mass and brunch with Jessica and Claudine. After a few days there, as prompted by my travel instructions, I'll "be at the Druk Air counter at least 98 minutes prior to scheduled flight time." 98 minutes? You can guess what my first question to my guide when I arrive at Paro, Bhutan.

Her northern border, accented by the Himalayas. with Tibet, and on the south, India, Bhutan is apparently the only place where the ancient Tibetan practices and worship continue, now that the Chinese have done away with them in Tibet itself. About twice the size of New Hampshire, equal to Beligium in land mass, its million people live on subsistence farming and barter, cash having been introduced only decades ago. Although the Bhutanese travel officer told me that, travelling alone, I'll be able to change my itinerary, seems that would be rather difficult, as there is but one paved road East to West.

Once done with Bhutan, south to Denpassar for the Club Med at Bali - one way to come back into civilization! Then back to the delightful Goodwood Park Hotel in Singapore

The trip and this note finally come to an end. However, it also comes with my very best wishes to you for a Blessed Christmass and a happy and prosperous New Year!