Sans letters

02 Friday Dec 2011

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By Monday, they should be at their destination — delivered to mailboxes, which if anything like mine, will be full of the too-familiar chorus of catalogs and flyers — each shouting for attention with color and bulk — drowning out the rare voice of a personal greeting — like that annual Christmas Carol of mine.

I Imagine most on my mailing list will make quick work of their mail.  Like me, they’ll sort.  Then make short stacks — one to discard now; one to discard later.  And in so doing, they’ll come across that little card. It will stand out because of its handwritten address — not done by computer, made to look handwritten — and the mere sight of it — if they are anything like me — will make their hearts sing.  Oh, the joy — that comes from receiving a piece of personal mail.

My Christmas cards always contain a letter.  The tradition grew out of handwritten notes which in recent years, graduated to being typed and professionally printed.  Many tell of how they enjoy my letters, how they look forward to receiving and reading them —  how my words inspired them to pen their own annual letter.  One friend on my list has a rather small printing:  she sends out one.  And this — I probably don’t have to say but will anyway — makes me feel all-day special —  for many days.

Yet, I wasn’t up to writing and packaging my year in 500 words or less this time around.  So sans letters, I sent out cards..  And in a year where I’ve written so little, relative to others — releasing them into the world without weight of  personal words felt right — in keeping, in harmony, in tune with my year.  And at this moment, in the now, I can’t imagine any will mind.  Most, in the busyness of life, won’t even miss my missive — why, if truth be told, I probably wrote more for myself than any one on my list.

But while at peace with the act of going letter-less, what wouldn’t go away was a desire to make my greeting personal.  And with a wish to put my best face forward —  and other faces in my family forward too — I enclosed something better than a letter — a glossy little card, offering a small collection of six black and white images — each depicting joy, peace and hope, to harmonize with my card’s printed message:

“May the gifts of peace, hope and joy be yours at Christmas and throughout the New Year.”

No need to embellish these words with my own, I thought when I found them.  But how good and right to underline them — to show rather than tell, as they instruct in the world of writing  —  with faces of joy, hope and peace from my everyday life.  And so I did.  The photos were easy to choose.  The first, captured last January — seconds after her birth, almost a year ago now  —  is of my newest granddaughter, Reese Caroline, with her newborn parents.  The second, a cropped photo of our new front porch leads to the third, an already poignant photo of Don this past June — where he sits at his mother’s kitchen table, in front of a lit birthday cake baked by his dying mother — in a wordless poem, her back is turned to the camera.  Four, five and six celebrate the wonders of an October wedding.  And all of these, I pray, let me never forget.

***

Go now, my best bits and pieces of joy, hope and peace for 2011.  Make your way into the world, as I cover you with this borrowed benediction from a favorite pastor:   Today.  Always.  “Go in peace.  Not in pieces.”

Hallelujah!  My little Christmas Carolers.  Handel with care.

On Connecting

01 Thursday Dec 2011

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Well, I did pick up the phone to call my good friend Wynona.

We didn’t talk long.   Like me, she stays too busy everyday of the year and today I caught her on her way to visit the dentist.  But we talked long enough for my eyes to grow watery.  Not because of what she said.  Or what I said —  which is strange, since I love words so much.  But oh my gosh, the tears came simply from hearing the sound of her voice.   And if tears lead to heart’s truth — then it’s clear I’ve allowed myself to become Wynona-deprived.

Why is it that we don’t pick up the phone more often to speak to old friends — or family — to check in and hear the sound of their voices.  Life gets in the way and I tell myself I’ll do it later — yes, I’ll do it after doing this or that — not really realizing I’m telling fibs to myself because  — don’t you know — I always have a this and that in my life to do!  And can I be the only one saying these things to myself, to deny myself such little pleasures in life — as a phone visit with a good friend?

While staying connected is important all the time, I’m only diligent about it this time of the year, when I take time to send out old-fashioned greeting cards.  It’s sad that I don’t receive as many as I once did.   And that a few I do receive sometimes carry hidden — or not so hidden motives — like the one I received this morning.

My first Christmas card of the season — no, after opening it again, I see it’s a “Holiday” Card rather than the Christmas variety, though the front of the card, as shown in the photo above, does contain a scene of the seeds of the season.   “Peace” the headline says — and Lord knows, in a year where family feuding has rattled my home more that those four (or is it five?) earthquakes we’ve suffered — that’s all the card has to say to garner my full attention.  So I open the card to read:

“May your Holiday Season be filled with all of the joy and peace on earth.”

It’s a nice wish.  Though I’m greedy enough to wish that the peace and joy weren’t limited to just what we had on earth.  But wait, beneath this greeting in a tiny soundbite of Scripture:

“God blesses those who hunger and thirst for justice, for they will be satisfied.”  St. Matthew 5:6

Justice is good, I suppose, though what is justice to one is not to another. Depending upon outlook, depending upon which side of the fence one stands on — which side of the war zone one lives in.  Oh, I wish it had been a Scripture about peace — such as the one just a few verses down the page, which reads:

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.”  St. Matthew 5:9.

Yes, I’m being nit-picky.  More than a nit, if I’m being honest.  But not a nit-wit I think, because under the Scripture, is the name and address of my newspaper delivery man, who’s hoping  — I’m pretty sure — that a card to me will inspire gifts of seasonal greenery.  Because he’s such a good delivery man at all.

Well, truth is — he is.  And so — not out of fear that my failure to respond will cause him to no longer connect with my front sidewalk, which he does with unerring accuracy — I’ll grant that wish.  And I’ll do it for the best of reasons — because in doing so, I’ll connect — even if ever so dimly — with something far greater than myself — to that one “whose sandals I’m unfit to untie.”

Today I’ll tuck that monetary gift into a Christmas card with a simple “thanks.”  Because sometimes less is more.  Except, of course, when it comes to gifts of seasonal greenery.  And staying connected with good friends — like Wynona.

About Face

30 Wednesday Nov 2011

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My face is no longer on Facebook.  Last September, I wiped my wall clean — much like my windows will be by the end of today, thanks to a lovely window-washer named Katherine.

I “met” Katherine by phone this past spring break, when she was on vacation, taking it easy in the Caribbean.  She ended up spending a day and a half washing windows at our Mesta Park two-story the following week — and as it happens with many contractors that work for me — my relationship with Katherine became a mix of business and pleasure.

It’s not that I know Katherine all that well.  What I know I can count on less than ten fingers.  First, she’s a single mother of two older boys.   Two, she’s a hard worker.  Three, she likes historic homes well enough to own one.  Four, she’s conscientious — when she’s running late, she calls.  Five, she takes pride in her work, and in leaving my home better than she found it.  Six, she’s attractive.  Seven, she injured herself badly somehow and sometimes, when working, she’s in pain.

It’s puny knowledge, truly.   But even this is more than I knew about the current lives of many Facebook friends.  Yet, it was something all together different that triggered my departure, because I quit soon after wishing my grandson a happy birthday via Facebook — which happened when I couldn’t reach him on his cell phone — which happened since we no longer enjoyed an everyday relationship —  due to reasons beyond his control.  And mine — or so it felt at the time.

The act of writing that solitary birthday greeting on his wall left me sad.  And it made me wonder:  Is this what my relationships — with those I hold most important in the world — is being reduced to?  Sending birthday greetings through a social media service — to follow up an old-fashioned greeting card delivered by others.  Though it works for some, I’d rather breathe a prayer in the silence that separates me from those whose lives I cherish.

It was one of those decisions made in an instant — the kind which often lead to regret —  where I clicked a button before I could change my mind.  And without mention to any of my friends — except for my husband — my demise on Facebook, I think, was not really noticed.  One minute I was there — and in the next, I wasn’t.  As far as I know, no obituary or announcement was delivered to my friends.

I’m looking forward to clean windows today — the kind so clean, one can see the reflection of their own living face within them — that one can look beyond their own face to a world full of trees and flowers and sun and moon and real people, with legs and arms and backs and hands to wave out a greeting.

But sometimes — I’m not gonna lie — I regret that rash decision of mine.  Why it happened yesterday, in fact, when I set out to address Christmas cards, when I realized I no longer have my good friend Litha’s new address, which she shared with her friends via Facebook.  But not enough yet, I think, to do an about-face.  I’ll just have to call our mutual friend Wynona.  After I catch up with Katherine.