It’s here. 2011 is passing into history. So I’ve been going through this stack of year’s end magazines to see how everyone famous feels about it.

The cover of Time magazine says the man of the year is “The Protester.” I protest all the time, is it about me? I protest to her, who won’t let me carry credit cards anymore. I protest about my Time Warner account, to HBO who canceled all my favorite shows, and the oil bill and on and on, just like you. But do I get a cover? Do you? Fat chance.

You see these are organized protesters they’re featuring. I am totally disorganized.I lose things like reading glasses and receipts. That’s why I’m not allowed to carry credit cards.

I think most of us fall under the heading of carping. That makes us carpers. Carpers are not going to be profiled anywhere. We don’t live in tents, wear masks and carry signs, so no one is going to waste pepper spray on us.

Here’s an article about the pope’s upcoming visit to Cuba. I envy the pope. He gets to wear all those cool costumes and have people shop for him and drive him everywhere. Now, he gets to be warm in Cuba.

I just wish the Mafia still owned Cuba. It was more fun when Lucky Luciano and Meyer Lansky ran Cuba. She and I would have spent our 50th anniversary in Havana if the government had let us go and if we had that kind of money. But I don’t want to be driven around in a l950 Plymouth. I’ll go back when the mob takes over the Mercedes dealers. We would go when she, who makes more money than I do, retires. But she says that when that happens, even Freeport will be out of bounds. She says we’ll be lucky to make Wendy’s for Thanksgiving dinner, and that we’ll have to give up HBO and Starbucks. Wow! For a moment there I thought we were in real trouble.

There’s a whole list here of people who died this year, Steve Jobs, Liz Taylor and Peter Falk. I remember Peter. He used to run the same park run I did in Beverly Hills back when we both had black hair. He was always coming east when I was going west. I had to make sure I ran on his good-eye side so he’d wave at me. Peter was a nice guy.

It’s time now to get serious and start to think about plans for the new year. Before she goes to bed at nine o’clock on New Year’s Eve, we like to sit down and make a list of things we want to change about each other.

My list for her is really short because by the end of the year I’ve forgotten what it was about her that annoyed me. She thinks it’s funny that she had her list for me laminated. I don’t think that’s funny because I’ve made a serious effort to cut down on profanity and putting forks away in the drawer with marinara sauce still in the prongs. Nobody’s perfect.

I only ask her to get some new everyday comments, and stop using “tomorrow is another day” or “we’ll see.” The most irritating one is “things could be worse.” Other than that, I’m perfectly happy with her.

So last night, we planned to do what we’ve done since leaving Hollywood. Because there is no school the next day, she retires at ten. Then at midnight, I trot up and shake her at the right moment, and we wish each other happy New Year. Then I go back down and see if I recognize anyone in Times Square. Later, when I get ready to climb into bed I wake her again, and ask her if we can go to Freeport the next day. She says, “We’ll see.”

Then I go to sleep and dream about the pope sipping rum and Cokes in Havana while I freeze here. Oh well. Things could be worse.

J.P Devine is from Waterville.