I figure I’m doing well if I remember to address and sign my Christmas Cards, let alone get them to the post office by New Year’s.
I think I’ve just received too many over-the-top Christmas letters to care about such things anymore. It was one thing when people would hand-write a little personal note inside a card and include a little tidbit of news of specific interest to the card’s recipient. The advent of desktop publishing changed all that. Now most of the “letters” I get aren’t personal notes at all, they’re newsletters spewing too much information to too broad an audience with no sense of story-telling or self censorship. (Uncle Joe – Sorry you had a kidney stone but I don’t need copies of all your lab results since last January. Cousin Cindy – I know Ryan’s your first child but I really don’t need 20 page excerpts from your diary about adventures in breastfeeding. Bill – this is the same letter you’ve been sending out for the past three years: your wife is still living in Vegas with her lesbian lover; your dog is still dead and your boss still doesn’t respect you; I know it’s the holidays and all and I should be more sympathetic but you really should either get a life or stop advertising your lack of one to the rest of us…)
I think Chrismas letters have become the literary equivalent of Fruitcake.