Every year for as long as I can remember my aunt Michelle throws a Christmas party.  I haven't been for a long time since I haven't lived near her, but I always think about it when "The Season" rolls around.

She lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, a beautiful place but one with pretty predictable Christmas parties - lots of children, no alcohol, a prayer and at least one jello salad.  Thankfully, my aunt was different

I remember it fondly - a sophisticated crowd (she knew people of color, she had friends who were gay, she had friends who were gay people of color) from the local advertising and architecture business (Michelle is in advertising and her husband is an architect) milling about her cool old house (she has always lived in "cool old buildings", whether it was an apartment when she was single or her later houses), with music playing, good food being passed around, and alcohol being served.  Not your typical Mormon party.

My aunt Michelle had a big influence on me.  She was one of the first people who showed me that it was okay to think for yourself.  She didn't lecture me or even suggest that I did not have to go through my life being a good Mormon boy from Utah if I did not want to.  She didn't say it would be bad if I did.  She just lived her life, and that often involved doing things differently than were expected.  Like going to college instead of getting married and having kids, or having a cold beer on a hot day.

I still remember her saying it, as my sister and I sat in her car in the 7-11 parking lot on a July day, getting ready to get out and get Slurpees...

"Maybe we should get some beer.  There is nothing like a cold beer on a hot day."

She didn't get any beer that day.  I think she knew that would be going too far.  I was 11, maybe, and my sister only two years older.  My mother, my grandmother, and anyone else related to her would have hit the roof.  But I always remembered that and I have always wanted to tell her she was right.

But back to her Christmas party.  At least twice during the night I would hear my aunt tell somebody, with a groan,

"Starting January 1, I am going through Personal Detox."

That statement was usually followed by a description of all of the rich foods and naughty beverages she had consumed since Thanksgiving, sometimes Halloween.

Being a young, active Mormon boy I shrugged these statements off, even a little derisively.  I chalked it up as something a woman would say.  What was wrong with eating fudge and ham and cookies and pie, and drinking rum or red wine? (Alcohol had never touched my lips but what I had heard sounded good.)

Well, this year I have learned the wisdom of "Personal Detox". 

I woke up January 1 feeling... like the human version of Drunken Chicken - rubbery and cold, with alcohol congealing between my skin and my meat.  I was overdone.  I had been drinking too much and eating too many rich foods for too long.  Really since I had gotten to Nashville.  All of the barbecue and the Hot Chicken and the bourbon and the pecan pie.  All of it great but that was it, I had been consuming all of it.  Beer and gin and great greasy burgers.  Chocolate covered caramel popcorn (it was a fundraiser) and Pimm's Rangoon and Nemirov vodka.  I woke up January 1 thinking,

"Personal Detox."

Not to worry, I don't think this needs to be a sacrifice.  This needn't be hardcore.  No colonics or herbal "cleansers".  I've just decided to drink less, eat less and to remember the benefits of moderation.

But then we do still have some sausage left...