In blogs past I've lectured you on the merits
of sending merry missives. As said prior,
there's little as elegant as a hand inscribed
note. Especially if it's scrawled upon some
heavy stock that's aggressively engraved in
a most civilized manner. For all of my adult
life I've felt that such transmissions were so
much more than mere seasonal expressions.
Rather said communiques are expressions
of one's sense of style. In essence concrete
evidence of how one chooses to strut their
stuff. All of which works only if and when
you send them out to the world at large.
Post traumatic stress syndrome
Which is exactly what I didn't do last year.
Somehow my Christmas cards got lost in
a flurry of house guests, presents, cooking,
decorating, and drinking. It also didn't help
that I was secretly planning to re-enter the
workforce come the new year. Hence I was
all too busy transitioning between here and
there. Meaning that in the end, my postal
presents never made it to your house. A sad
fact that I find mortifying. Especially when
so many of you sent charming cards, photos,
letters, etc. Reinforcing my commitment to
deliver my mail this year come rain or snow.
As you may know, this year we're escaping the
season on a tropical cruise far from mistletoe,
balsam, and Bergdorf's. We've decided to not
send out any gifts. Instead we're either writing
a check or checking you off our list. As less
is more hopefully you'll be equally happy to
not have to send us anything except your love.
Given we'll be far away from it all - we plan
to avoid any seasonal disorder. Thus my only
holiday task was to send our Christmas cards.
After all, it's the least I could do. So as we left
Montana after Thanksgiving I careful packed
them to insure they came along for the ride.
Address correction requested
Last weekend I finally carved out some time
to do my duty. However one thing seemed to
be missing - my address book. Somehow I'd
left it back at home. And while I maintain a
cyber contact list - those once a year folks
are archaically archived on paper not vapor.
Therefore good intentions aside, I'm unable
to complete the task at hand. A fact that I not
only consider highly irritating but extremely
embarrassing. Meaning that once again, Mr.
Etiquette is a complete and utter hypocrite.
Unable to execute this simplest of seasonal
tasks. All I can say is BAH HUMBUG!
You've got mail
Could it be that I've learned yet another lesson?
While I enjoy catching up with all of you on an
annual basis - this error in judgement calls into
question doing so via snail mail. Is that the best
use of our collective time? I still adore the pomp
and circumstance of my tried and true traditions.
However a quick e-mail, tweet, text, or Instagram
can be equally evocative. Now almost daily my
daughter "M" posts an update on grandson "H".
Hence while not there physically, we're instantly
connected via modern technology. Which has
me thinking that maybe it's time to finally put
down my cards in surrender? What about you?
Change is good. This holiday we're off on a
cruise through the end of December. So why
was I even thinking of sending out Christmas
cards? This year all traditions will be broken.
Soon we'll be on deck. Not decking the halls.
Rather than donning gay apparel - we'll lay
half naked under the sun. Therefore the only
chilling we'll be doing is with a cocktail in
hand. Most important - this year somebody
else is cooking our goose on Christmas day.
Yet somethings never change. So while you
won't get a card from us, I'll continue to write
to you on a daily basis. Merry Montanaroue'!