Christmas was a few days ago. The excitement has begun to ebb as the last few remaining days of the year dwindle away like spent candle wax from the Advent wreath that still adorns my table. These days get lost between the old and the new as though the sun is just putting in time until it drops below the horizon on the 31st and rises on the 1st. It is fitting then that the last several days have been gloomy here with clouds and rain. I was hoping to get to the beach before the year was officially over, but it’s as though what’s left of 2023 is pouting, feeling like leftover scraps. Everyone is waiting for what’s to come, barely noticing these few days as an opportunity to finish the year well before sliding into 2024. Well, it would help if the weather would cooperate and put a little sunshine into what we have left, or else I’m going to have to dig deep to find an excuse to shed these sweatpants, slippers, and cozy sweater myself!
I too am pouting I suppose. The number of Christmas cards that brought me news, and the joy of hearing from old friends at Christmas were not as many as in the past. More and more people are relying on social media to send out a blanket Christmas greeting, and less and less on the old fashioned pony express. I can’t be the only person who eagerly awaits December mail, knowing that December is the month you are guaranteed something more than advertisement flyers from here, there, and everywhere that go directly from the mailbox to the trash can, providing nothing more than a walk down the driveway to get some fresh air. It might also constitute exercise if your driveway is long enough, and maybe you take a lap around the yard while you’re out. No, December means “real” mail, or does it?
I received an email from a dear friend which included an apology for not getting a card out this year. A lot had happened during the past 12 months and her heart just wasn’t in it. As I read about her life I understood why her heart had taken a powder on the tradition this year. Some years are like that. It was the simplicity of one word that finally helped me to understand what I felt missing from my mailbox. It wasn’t that I needed a card in return for the ones I sent out. Sending a Christmas card isn’t about that. It’s about “heart”. I was missing that glittery card with the colorful envelope that even with nothing more than a signature somehow said, “I’m thinking of you”. Okay, okay I’m not a fan of “just” a signature which somehow conveys that you’re barely trying, but I will take it in the spirit of which it was sent. You still have to address the envelope, affix the stamp, and if you chose poorly, lick the envelope! Nothing says you care like having to lick an envelope!
It is arrogant of me to believe the recipients of my card are happy to get it. Perhaps some secretly wish there was an “unsubscribe” opportunity included. After all, I do include the dreaded “Christmas letter” that is the butt of all Christmas card jokes. I’ve lately thought of giving the tradition up altogether. Sending cards seems to have become antiquated, and with the price of postage who could blame anyone for going the Facebook billboard, blanket holiday greeting route? Well, maybe someday, but not today! Instead, as the dawn of a new year sweeps towards us I am writing names on my Christmas card list for next December. It is in my heart.
Peeling off my sweats and donning “real” clothes, I drove to Hobby Lobby to score next year’s cards at a discount. Though other castaway decorations that missed out on being chosen for the holiday still lined the shelves, I didn’t find a single box of Christmas cards anywhere. I’m not sure if I was disappointed, or somewhere deep inside of me there glowed an ember of joy to know I am not the only dinosaur.