Ode to Holiday Cards

Every year, by November’s end, I fancy this will be the year I rebel and won’t send holiday cards. They’re too stressful. Finding the right photo, picking out a card style, maybe writing up a short synopsis of the past year. Who has time? But who am I kidding?

My favorite season on the postal calendar has just begun.

It started shortly after Thanksgiving and runs right through Epiphany and until I get our own cards in the mail, it makes me just a wee neurotic.

I hold silent my grudge against early arrivals, the ones stamped, addressed, mailed AND delivered even before I’ve uploaded our Christmas photo (sometimes even before I’ve taken it, as is the case this year). Similarly, I hold close the late arrivals, ones that prolong this already-too-short season by another day.

They start with a trickle, just one or two by now, and then slowly, steadily, the numbers pick up. Some days, I find as many as 5 or 6 at a time. I love seeing the pictures, reading notes, noticing how each card reflects our friends’ individual styles.

Each day, as the mail truck’s stop-and-go sound nears our house, I grow giddy with anticipation, part hoping there won’t be any in the day’s delivery—confirming that I’m not so behind afterall—part wondering who’s actually organized enough to have their cards mailed by now.

As each one arrives, I tape it up at the entry of our kitchen. Those with our childrens’ friends pictured on them go at child-eye-level. The rest vie for space until the wall is full. Though I appreciate every card we get, no matter what its image, style or picture, I have always loved most the ones that also include a picture of our friends, the card progenitors.

Sure, I enjoy seeing everyone’s offspring and marvel at how quickly they change and grow but let’s be honest, I’m interested in seeing the same thing about their parents too.

We live in New England and something about that generates an odd reaction in people. Every year, we receive a handful of cards with a family photograph (or of just their kids) dressed either in khakis and white tops or Lilly Pulitzer-y outfits, adorned by sand and dune grass…something about them always makes me chuckle. Is it the quintessential New England preppiness of it all? or perhaps just because we are a mixed-race family and the idea of taking such a preppy Christmas photo ourselves seems off?

Last year we received a few cards composed of photo montages. I really loved looking at them, the way they gave us a glimpse into the past year of our friends’ lives. Though we live in a well-connected world of smart phones and social media, of Skyping and blogs, there is something particularly sacred about the still-frame of a photograph.

On DH and my list are friends that we haven’t seen in years, even a few that precede our relationship as a couple but they’re people I never want to forget, and I silently pray they won’t forget me either.

Holiday cards are proof that we still matter enough to someone to make it onto her Holiday card list.

Come February, I am loath to take down the photo wall but by Valentine’s Day, Christmas images and messages feel out-of-place. Some cards I take down reluctantly, worried that they may be the last image I have of a fading friendship. Others I remove assuredly, knowing we’ll receive another come Christmas.

So here we are, it’s the first full week of December, we’ve decked our halls, put up our tree and hung our Christmas lights but aside from worrying about them, we’ve yet to do anything about our holiday cards. Just maybe, this year, I won’t send holiday cards afterall…

Where do you stand on the holiday-readiness-meter?  Signed, sealed delivered or still recovering from Thanksgiving?

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