'Tis the season for so many great things, like Christmas or holiday newsletters.
These days, they have a glossier look, with fancy fonts and graphics. I miss the older ones where you could see the Scotch tape holding down the pictures and fantastic placement of cheeky elf or poinsettia stickers. Maybe they got photocopied at the office or the corner Kinkos; either way they looked like the toner light might have been flashing.
I loved those letters.
Not to catch up on the year's events of people I don't know very well -- but to mock them. I know. I'm that person. As a kid, I'd read the ones sent to my folks and ad lib additions, a performance art only I seemed to appreciate. Truth be told, everyone else's kids all seemed to be doing better than I was, and I wasn't going to let that go. I was the kid who seemed to have her eyes shut in just about every family photo. Yeah, please send that out to everyone we know.
I'm sure you've read your share of "our-family-is-better-than-your-family" letters. Once I made up a newsletter for the rest of us:
Our son, Steven, was only beaten up one time this year, which was his goal for seventh grade. The girl who pummeled him has since apologized. Neither Tammy nor Buffy made the cheerleading squad, but we're thrilled that neither of them is pregnant. Yeah, team! Ben didn't get a promotion at work, but he did get a new secretary who isn't as young or pretty as the last. What a relief; you know he has that wandering eye. To get with the holiday spirit, I'm adding cranberries to my 'mommy's little helper' beverages.
I'm not sure why these letters were such a target for ridicule. Super nice people write them and just want to put their best feet forward. And really, who wants to read about the day-to-day battles that families really face: Merry Christmas. We're about to lose our house, and just had to put down the cat (here's a picture).
Oh, there are websites dedicated to the worst of the genre, and their mocking is epic. One person reported getting a letter from a neighbor telling her (and everyone else on her Christmas letter list) that her husband had been unfaithful, with details, lots of details. She also gave a blow-by-blow account of her gastric bypass surgery.
So why am I bringing up this subject and calling attention to this particular flaw in my own character?
I'm thinking about writing my first holiday/Christmas newsletter.
Some years ago, I stopped celebrating Christmas. It had become a season to tolerate, a day to endure. Well, apparently the spirit of the holiday can renew itself. Little white lights are today waiting in boxes for me to climb a ladder with a hammer and nails. (What could go wrong?) I'm putting up a tree again. And because of a Christmas letter that arrived on the mail boat recently, I'm thinking it may be time to write one of my own.
The letter had a clever opening about what this friend had been reading, followed by a few paragraphs about family events and accomplishments. The closing got to me by taking apart every "better than you" letter I've ever read:
Too busy, yes -- but too busy is way better than not busy enough. And if that means our lives are just a tad disorderly, well, what's so terrific about order? Are ducks truly better off in a row? The longer we live, the more convinced we are that getting comfortable with chaos may be our first order of business. Stop feeling guilty about all that stuff piled up on your desk. A wise bishop was once heard to say, "God is mess," and it's hard to imagine anything more disorderly than God coming into the world as a baby, turning everything upside down, wolves living with lambs, leopards with goats, calves with lions, all led by a little child. Sheer chaos -- but love makes it work. And that's why we keep writing this Christmas letter: to celebrate the love in our chaos.
My desk is a mess too! And so is the kitchen table most days. Hey, it's all chaos, so I guess I better make sure there's enough love to make it work.
What's next for me? A Mrs. Santa suit? Inflatable reindeer on the roof? Signing all my correspondence "Love, Shanta?" OK, maybe I'm not quite that far gone. Maybe I'll just ease into it by baking some gingerbread and writing that letter.
Love, Shanta.
Shannyn Moore is a radio broadcaster.
The views expressed here are the writer's own and are not necessarily endorsed by Alaska Dispatch News, which welcomes a broad range of viewpoints. To submit a piece for consideration, email commentary(at)alaskadispatch.com.