By Dana Martin
We make a living by what we get but we make a life by what we give.
~Winston Churchill
Who doesn't like getting cards in the mail? Real cards — not e-cards or virtual cards that say, "I was thinking of you, just not enough to spend money on a stamp." Christmas is the one time of year to catch up with friends and family we don't see often enough, receive a card, sometimes a handwritten note and hopefully some pictures of their growing children, their dogs, or even their vacations.
We make a living by what we get but we make a life by what we give.
~Winston Churchill
Who doesn't like getting cards in the mail? Real cards — not e-cards or virtual cards that say, "I was thinking of you, just not enough to spend money on a stamp." Christmas is the one time of year to catch up with friends and family we don't see often enough, receive a card, sometimes a handwritten note and hopefully some pictures of their growing children, their dogs, or even their vacations.
The anticipation of finding a Christmas card in the mailbox is comparable only to finding a new present under the tree every day during the month of December. In a tiny metal box, that typically receives monthly greetings only from the electric company or Publishers Clearing House, news arrives of babies, new jobs, college graduations, and photos of smiling faces. The month of December delivers the promise of holiday messages, of tradition.
Every year I mail dozens of Christmas cards, mostly to people with whom I've been exchanging yearly greetings for as long as I've been married. When I separate them for the post office each year, the stack going to people out of state is as big as the stack staying in town.
I send them to relatives I haven't seen in ten years, to friends who've moved away, to a soldier overseas, to friends of my aging parents — these all make sense. It stops making sense when I send one to my mother (who I see almost every day) and to my next-door neighbors. Nonetheless, I send them, because I hope that the recipients get as much joy as I do finding Christmas cards in the mailbox.
One year was different. My holiday joy took a nosedive the year it seemed like everyone had decided to boycott the Christmas card tradition. I'll always remember it as the year that cards trickled in slowly and painfully, like receiving a million dollars in the mail one dollar at a time; I was grateful for each one, but just one a day seemed like a cruel joke.
I waited. My kids noticed.
"Mom, didn't you send out Christmas cards this year?" asked my sixteen-year-old daughter as she looked through a stack of mail.
"Yes, of course I did. Why do you ask?"
She pointed to an empty red and green wicker basket on the counter. "Where are all our Christmas cards?"
That was the big question, wasn't it? It was already the second week of December and the only cards I'd received were from our insurance agent and tax preparer. It was starting to become a twisted and backward version of "The Twelve Days of Christmas," except that in this version, my True Love gave me bills on the eighth day and junk mail on the ninth.
I thought the weekend of the 15th would be productive for the people who hadn't yet sent their cards, so on the following Wednesday I expected my mailbox to be full. Wednesday came and went; I received two cards.
"Unbelievable!" I complained as I walked inside from getting the mail.
On Thursday, I was excited to see three cards in the mailbox — until I realized one of them was my own, returned to sender for an outdated address.
Where were my Christmas cards? I love getting the ones that include pictures, and the cards that include a yearly "This is what we've been doing" letter are a beloved bonus. I tape any pictures to my refrigerator so we can enjoy them until New Year's Day, but this particular year my fridge was nearly bare.
I don't know what changed from all the years past. One friend sent out a Facebook message to let people know that, while she was enjoying everyone else's Christmas cards tremendously, she wouldn't be sending out cards this year because she was too busy.
Too busy. Maybe that's the culprit. Too busy to bake, too busy to write cards. Maybe this is a sign of how overextended we are with our jobs, kids' activities, and social commitments. We all complain about how busy we are this time of year, especially my husband, who doesn't buy my gift until the weekend before Christmas because he can't believe "how fast Christmas came this year." December does have a way of using eleven months to surprise us.
Perhaps it is the economy. If you buy the boxed cards the day after Christmas, you can get two boxes for the price of one, but stamps get into people's wallets. Even though mailing a letter through the post office is still the most cost-efficient method to get something across the world, when you're mailing sixty-plus of those "somethings," the cost may become an issue.
"Why do you keep mailing them if it makes you so upset?" asked my husband one night as he listened to me list everyone who hadn't sent a Christmas card that year.
"I've asked myself that same question!" I said. "And I've decided that I'm finished with the whole tradition. People just don't send Christmas cards anymore, I guess."
Christmas came and went. A few cards arrived after December 25th. Such blatant lack of Christmas spirit disillusioned me. What was next? Too busy to decorate a tree? I allowed the shortage of Christmas cards to damper the last vestiges of my holiday spirit.
Then, not long after Christmas, a special card arrived in the mail that caused my shrunken grinchy heart to grow three sizes that day.
"Loved ones," it read, "I can't tell you how much we look forward to receiving your Christmas card every year. The kids are growing too fast, and we are getting old, so your yearly holiday greeting is better than any monetary gift. We read your letter at least three times and find pleasure in every detail you take the time to write. We love you and hope that you know that our love travels the miles to reach you, just as your card has traveled miles to reach us. Much love."
My grandparents are both gone now, but I still have that card. It is the first card I put in the wicker basket each year to remind me that the true spirit of Christmas is giving, not receiving. And every year, I continue to mail Christmas cards to everyone on my list.
And it's okay if they don't mail one back. The holiday tradition continues.
Every year I mail dozens of Christmas cards, mostly to people with whom I've been exchanging yearly greetings for as long as I've been married. When I separate them for the post office each year, the stack going to people out of state is as big as the stack staying in town.
I send them to relatives I haven't seen in ten years, to friends who've moved away, to a soldier overseas, to friends of my aging parents — these all make sense. It stops making sense when I send one to my mother (who I see almost every day) and to my next-door neighbors. Nonetheless, I send them, because I hope that the recipients get as much joy as I do finding Christmas cards in the mailbox.
One year was different. My holiday joy took a nosedive the year it seemed like everyone had decided to boycott the Christmas card tradition. I'll always remember it as the year that cards trickled in slowly and painfully, like receiving a million dollars in the mail one dollar at a time; I was grateful for each one, but just one a day seemed like a cruel joke.
I waited. My kids noticed.
"Mom, didn't you send out Christmas cards this year?" asked my sixteen-year-old daughter as she looked through a stack of mail.
"Yes, of course I did. Why do you ask?"
She pointed to an empty red and green wicker basket on the counter. "Where are all our Christmas cards?"
That was the big question, wasn't it? It was already the second week of December and the only cards I'd received were from our insurance agent and tax preparer. It was starting to become a twisted and backward version of "The Twelve Days of Christmas," except that in this version, my True Love gave me bills on the eighth day and junk mail on the ninth.
I thought the weekend of the 15th would be productive for the people who hadn't yet sent their cards, so on the following Wednesday I expected my mailbox to be full. Wednesday came and went; I received two cards.
"Unbelievable!" I complained as I walked inside from getting the mail.
On Thursday, I was excited to see three cards in the mailbox — until I realized one of them was my own, returned to sender for an outdated address.
Where were my Christmas cards? I love getting the ones that include pictures, and the cards that include a yearly "This is what we've been doing" letter are a beloved bonus. I tape any pictures to my refrigerator so we can enjoy them until New Year's Day, but this particular year my fridge was nearly bare.
I don't know what changed from all the years past. One friend sent out a Facebook message to let people know that, while she was enjoying everyone else's Christmas cards tremendously, she wouldn't be sending out cards this year because she was too busy.
Too busy. Maybe that's the culprit. Too busy to bake, too busy to write cards. Maybe this is a sign of how overextended we are with our jobs, kids' activities, and social commitments. We all complain about how busy we are this time of year, especially my husband, who doesn't buy my gift until the weekend before Christmas because he can't believe "how fast Christmas came this year." December does have a way of using eleven months to surprise us.
Perhaps it is the economy. If you buy the boxed cards the day after Christmas, you can get two boxes for the price of one, but stamps get into people's wallets. Even though mailing a letter through the post office is still the most cost-efficient method to get something across the world, when you're mailing sixty-plus of those "somethings," the cost may become an issue.
"Why do you keep mailing them if it makes you so upset?" asked my husband one night as he listened to me list everyone who hadn't sent a Christmas card that year.
"I've asked myself that same question!" I said. "And I've decided that I'm finished with the whole tradition. People just don't send Christmas cards anymore, I guess."
Christmas came and went. A few cards arrived after December 25th. Such blatant lack of Christmas spirit disillusioned me. What was next? Too busy to decorate a tree? I allowed the shortage of Christmas cards to damper the last vestiges of my holiday spirit.
Then, not long after Christmas, a special card arrived in the mail that caused my shrunken grinchy heart to grow three sizes that day.
"Loved ones," it read, "I can't tell you how much we look forward to receiving your Christmas card every year. The kids are growing too fast, and we are getting old, so your yearly holiday greeting is better than any monetary gift. We read your letter at least three times and find pleasure in every detail you take the time to write. We love you and hope that you know that our love travels the miles to reach you, just as your card has traveled miles to reach us. Much love."
My grandparents are both gone now, but I still have that card. It is the first card I put in the wicker basket each year to remind me that the true spirit of Christmas is giving, not receiving. And every year, I continue to mail Christmas cards to everyone on my list.
And it's okay if they don't mail one back. The holiday tradition continues.
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