There are so many wonderful things to look forward to as the days tick past and Christmas approaches, but by far the most enjoyable of these holiday treats, at least for me, are the cards that begin to fill my mailbox at the beginning of December and do not end until my perpetually tardy brother’s card arrives just in time for New Year’s Eve.
Let me explain why I love these cards so much, because to be honest, it isn’t for the reason you might think.
It isn’t because it warms the cockles of my heart to hear from Great Aunt Mildred who, until this month, I had no idea was even still alive.
And it’s not for the myriad of manufactured greeting cards that come in all shapes, sizes and colours and last about a day in the house before being unceremoniously tossed into the garbage.
Nor does it come in the yearly ritual of figuring out whose list you’ve been left off of and who will, in Yuletide retaliation, be scratched off your list next year.
No, my happiness lies in those little holiday gems that create the greatest holiday amusement ever - the “what we did this past year” letter.
The letter that is usually mass-produced on some Christmas-themed paper with the offending family’s name written in some fancy script across the top.
I love these letters! I love how pretentious they are and that these people I don’t hear from 364 days out of the year think that I want to hear an abbreviated account of their yearly triumphs at Christmas.
And I love even more the fact that I kinda do. I want to laugh at them and read the letter out to visiting guests and use my best English accent to convey just how uppity the tone of the letter is.
I actually have one relative who sends a letter to everyone from the point-of-view of her dog.
The dog, I must admit, is very witty and observant. Nothing like the letter my dog would write. I imagine my dog’s letter would read something like:
Well she forgot to feed me again this morning. She is such a lazy jerk. I can’t even remember the last time I went for a walk. She keeps promising me, but never follows through. No wonder she’s never accomplished anything of significant merit in her life. I got even though. I drank from the toilet yesterday morning and then licked her face as she was bending over to put on her boots just before heading out the door for work. I’m going to bark at nothing tonight just to mess with her a little. Merry Christmas.
Just once, I would like someone to send a real letter. A letter that didn’t sugar coat anything. A letter like this:
Hope this letter finds you and yours in good health and filled with the spirit of Christmas.
Sadly we can’t share in that sentiment this year as we had to bury grandma and our beloved bird Rasputin within a week of one another.
Grandma passed peacefully in her sleep at the tender age of 99, but poor Rasputin met a more horrible fate one day when Barry left the cage door open and the bird mistook a mirror for an open window. I can tell you it was a truly sad day in our house that day. Barry is still shaken up over it and has refused to eat the Christmas turkey this year.
We did have a bit of good news this year, with the union of your cousin Mark with his fifth wife, Tatiana. Mark met her through some online dating site from Slovakia and she barely speaks a word of English, which your Uncle Barry and I think might actually be a good thing. Maybe this one will last. Our fingers are crossed.
Maria is still living with her “live-in” boyfriend who grows medicinal marijuana in his attic. She is taking a class at the local community college on the healing properties of tie-dye and we’re pretty sure she’s flunking.
On the health front, things have been OK. My corns are giving me a real pain and Uncle Barry’s haemorrhoids have been so bad we had to put off our road trip to Arizona this summer.
Well that’s pretty much it from here. Talk to you next year unless someone dies.
Merry Christmas.
Those are the letters I want to read, but for the meantime Aunt Lois’ cribbage tournament will have to suffice.
