Pretend this is handwritten

Thanks to an adorable snow scene on the front of the cards we chose this year, I am sparkling and covered in glitter. And that bump on my right middle finger where I rest writing instruments is red and squishy. But...BUT...I am finally done assembling, addressing, stamping, writing, and licking closed all of our 2013 Christmas cards. Can I get a "Hallelujah!"?

Christmas cards can be such a thing. A burden, a task, a sign of Christmas, a competition, a fun excuse to reflect on the past year, a reason to panic, an intentional moment to think about people we don't get to interact with any other time of the year but at one point were pivotal and more present.

I like the peace and meditative aspects of repetitive tasks, so the mechanical process of addressing envelopes and affixing labels and stamps can be soothing to me in the midst of the holiday ridiculousness. But my desire to personalize each greeting can become daunting and induce anxiety and lead to procrastination. The laundry is all done, for instance. Including kitchen rugs and guest bathroom towels even though no guests are imminent.

When I was a kid, Christmas Cards were an event. Usually accomplished while Thanksgiving left-overs were still in the fridge, my mom would often draft the letter, my dad would update the address book and produce the labels, and I was happily in charge of all the licking, peeling, and sticking. I don't recall that handwriting was involved, aside from our signatures. And that seemed just fine.

As a young married woman, though, I decided I wanted to be more personal, to approach each Christmas card as an individual, customized note. With a relatively thin address book, this was very doable. But as our list grew and our careers busied, my handwritten missives started to repeat from one name to another and became more of an exercise in handwritten photocopying. It appeared personal but it felt disingenuous.

Then came Christmas 2001. I had had one back surgery and seemed destined to have another. My career was over and I was languishing on "total and permanent disability" trying desperately to have a purpose. So that year I informed myself that since I had the time, it was my duty to write rather lengthy notes again, filling up all empty white space on every card we sent. With a list approaching three digits, this self-imposed rule kept me quite busy that month. And that year I also told a very grateful Rob that he didn't need to write anything; we had been together long enough that his friends were now my friends so it wasn't odd for me to send the greeting from both of us. I think Santa brought me jewelry that year.

This self-directed task-mastering continued until we uprooted our lives in California and set about rerooting them in the hinterlands of Washington. With a new community of friends and a new definition of purpose, our lives got busier and I gave myself a break. I finally conceded to the efficiency of a brief Christmas letter. A mass produced, impersonal, production line Christmas letter. Embarrassed, I still insisted on including at least a brief handwritten note in each card, even if it was only to wish dear ones a Merry Christmas or happy holiday. And that rule continues today.

It's such a thing, Christmas cards. I love getting them. I love getting mine done. I love seeing photos of friends and especially of their confoundingly growing children. I love reading Christmas letters. I am amazed and a bit envious of the couple cards we get each year that have a long, personal, handwritten note inside.

I noticed last year that fewer people sent out cards at all. And Facebook and email greetings were more popular. And more of those that still used snail mail sent out photo cards -- cards created online with one or a handful of personal photos, sent with a pre-printed greeting. I turned over each photo card, hoping for a handwritten newsy update of some sort. Typically I just saw the name of the online producer. I tried not to be disappointed. I sympathized in the shoes of the very busy parents who had managed to find time to think ahead before Thanksgiving to take photos, design a card, and place an order. And I remembered to be grateful that regardless how they sent their greeting, each photo card came from someone who still wanted to keep in contact with me.

I guess I am a fan of handwriting and long for a less busy time without so many technological advances that make handwriting so quaint. But the real point of Christmas cards is to keep in touch, to remember people that have walked into our lives; some passing through at just the right time, others setting up camp. And so if I wish you a Merry Christmas, whether it be in a Christmas card in your mail box or on Facebook or in an email or in a blog posting, know that I truly mean it and I am happy you are in my life.

Merry Christmas! With glitter!