Because Christmas is now only four days away, I am writing a thank you note to all you kind and organized people who sent me Christmas cards through the actual postal service.
And since I am not so kind and organized as you beautiful creatures, this will serve as a combination thank you note/Christmas card back to each and every person who sent me one.
First, thank you to the eight thoughtful human beings who still send out Christmas cards.
It gives me happiness – joy, even – to receive a Christmas card. I just have not shifted that joy to the actual act of me sending some out. There’s always next year to meet that goal, I’ve told myself the past 15 years.
Almost every card I’ve gotten this year have had pictures of families, grandkids and pets…it’s just wonderful.
I just show people pictures on my phone when I see them at the grocery store, and it saves postage and stuff.
Also, the Christmas greetings came with news of the best kinds – engagements, new babies, good grades and new jobs. Those are called Christmas missives, I think.
Last night, after I got home and read through two more, I wondered to myself, “Kari, how would you summarize your year if you actually got off your butt and became organized and stuff like normal people?”
So, I got off my butt and became organized for an hour, to write a Christmas missive and appear somewhat normal:
Hello all! Whew…what a year, and one I never hope to see again. (Which I won’t because a year has never repeated itself. Thank God).
My husband and I didn’t have a baby this year (at 52 years old, that would have been the mother of all Christmas miracles, by the way), but we did spend the year staring at an iPad every day while watching our toddler grandson play in South Carolina. It’s not creepy, it’s what I call remote grandparenting.
Twice this year, I attempted to cook. The first time was a big batch of bone broth I cooked up back in March to cure anything that ailed my husband, as directed by Pinterest. What ailed my sweet husband, ultimately, was the smell of the bone broth simmering. The broth was buried at the landfill, unceremoniously.
Then, sometime back in October, I actually cooked a meal. And it was a real one that required heat and a stove, and suggested measuring utensils – a vast departure from the way I usually cook at fast food restaurants.
It was horrible, and took two days to get the smell of burned rubber out of the house, although rubber was not on the list of ingredients. I do love a good mystery.
They did mention the next day that they had missed my presence in the drive-through lane, and I was grateful.
My guardian angel, Grace, stepped out twice for a smoke break this year, and I fell in public. The first fall – in front of my office – mortally damaged my pride and a Route 44 sweet tea.
The second one, on an asphalt stage at Petco, shortened my spine by half an inch and took what was left of my battered pride.
My college football team didn’t win enough games to get a bowl, so I don’t really want to talk about football. But since we’re on the subject, I don’t know one thing about effective defense but I am certain my team doesn’t recruit for that.
My grandson turned one in June, and I was able to spend his birthday with him in South Carolina, which was a highlight of my year. Next time I see you at the store, I will no doubt whip out my phone so you can see just how precious he is.
Anyway, that trip led to a three week long battle with the people at the rental car place, and gave me an opportunity to put my word usage skills to work in what I call creative emails to corporate.
Lastly, I’ve watched A Christmas Carol (the one with George C. Scott) around 20 times this year alone, four of those in the past week.
With that in mind, I will end with this: Even if you don’t send out Christmas cards and missives, keep Christmas in your heart every day. The spirit is not meant to be kept one day a year, but to sustain us throughout the days when we are sprawled out on the asphalt, or making our homes smell like the ghosts of death and regret have moved in.
If we can’t find something beautiful or funny somewhere in the midst of our problems, we are destined to become much like Ebeneezer Scrooge before the intervention.
Be a blessing to someone, and laugh through your tears.
God bless us, everyone. We all need it.
Note: I will be in South Carolina this year, living with the ghost of Christmas present