Last night -- deep in the midst of my winter's sleep, while the clock struck 12, heard by no one but my cats -- we tripped quietly across the threshhold into the month of December. The time of year when a person of a certain traditional bent has thoughts that lightly turn to -- Christmas Cards!
Those who pay attention to the mores of our age assure us that the sending of Christmas cards is a dying custom, an anachronism in our age of high speed, digitalized communication. And my own experience does seem to bear out their analysis. Each year I receive fewer cards, each year I wonder if I should myself forbear sending cards and, if I did so, whether anyone would notice.
Be not the first by whom the new are tried,
Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.
So preaches the ever-tedious Alexander Pope. And, as always, Mr. Pope's tedious point is somewhat valid. But scratch a rabid American liberal -- such as me -- and you oft find a secret lover of tradition.
I was a kid who eagerly pounced on the daily mail each December, opening the envelopes and poring over each card before my folks had a chance to wrest them away from me. Half the senders I'd never met, or often had even heard of, but the stories of their lives for the past year, their tales of triumph or tragedy, appealed to my imagination -- as did the varied types of designs and messages that the cards themselves presented. And as a college student, I addressed Christmas cards while others were feverishly preparing for finals -- with predictable results for my GPA.
They say you can guess a man's personality by looking at his dog. Christmas cards offer even more transparent windows into the soul. Four cards, each wishing me the best wishes of the season, but each in a distinct style: a Christmas ornament and a piece of tinsel in a champagne glass; Santa with his feet on his desk, downing a beer with his elves; the Holy Family gathered around a manger, with a host of angels back-lit by a starry sky; an impressionistic view of a snowy forest in winter, with two birds and a deer in the foreground. Four senders of Christmas greetings who view Christmas from four very distinct angles.
Sir Henry Cole is said to have sent the first card in 1843, and we've been sending and receiving them ever since. We can not only judge a sender's personality by the cards he sends, but we can also sense the changing moods of society itself by the differences, from decade to decade, in the style, subject matter, and art work of the Christmas cards it creates.
But, anyway, here's a toast to old Sir Henry. If I ever decide to follow Pope's prudent advice -- to go with the trend of the times and give up sending out cards -- well, it certainly won't be this year. I've long ago purchased my cards, thank you. Next, I'll pore over last year's address list, check out who sent me cards, decide whether the year's been one of those good years when I add rather than subtract names, and draw up a final list of the worthies whose lives will be gladdened when they receive my Christmas greetings for 2008. Close friends and relatives will get a short handwritten greeting; folks to whom I haven't written all year will get whatever length of letter I can squeeze into the space available.
Let's face it. Maybe in 2008, with email and Facebook so readily available, no one really does care if I send them a card or not. But I send them for myself, at least in part. Christmas just doesn't feel like Christmas until I carry my stack of envelopes down to the corner and drop them in the mailbox.
You celebrate the season your way. I'm getting ready to tackle my Christmas cards.
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