Oh dear - some people love to write and send Christmas cards. I've gotten them for years with their cheery waving and hello's and well wishes. I love to get them. I hate to send them.
It's not that I hate to send them - being a procrastinator - I hate to see them lying in their little bin AFTER the event they were bought for.
Do you have a clue as to how many cards sit in peoples' drawers and sigh heavily? Do you not feel a guilt and sorrow for the little things - created with such hope and languishing in despair?
This year - well, about two weeks ago - I decided - ENOUGH. Send cards, blast you woman. The years of money spent and joy at picking them out are waiting for you to do something.
I sat down on Thursday with a truckload of new-bought cards - let the old ones languish - and vowed to fill them out and send them on their merry way. Hmm - finding addresses not as easy as I thought. A friend called. How about breakfast? Whoo hoo. Left the cards where they lay and ran out the door, coat flying behind me, obscuring the sounds of weeping coming from my desk.
Later that day, sat down and picked up pen. Friend called. I'll be over in a minute? Yes - please come. Darted about the room picking up dog toys and the ever-present dog-chewed kleenex. Wiped down the bathroom and poured the wine. Spent a wondrous evening.
Friday - doctor appointment. Baby-sitting my glorious and precious granddaughter. Exhausted by the evening. Closed my ears to the sounds of sobbing coming from my desk and slept.
Saturday - OK. Some envelopes have been addressed. Why is it so difficult to fill out the cards? I love these people that I'm sending them, too. They are worth every moment. It's delving down and opening myself up to nostalgia, sorrow, and joy. Tears spring to my eyes as I look at each name I'm sending these to. Bits of memory flood my soul and I am glad to be doing this.
But, mark my words, it's still hard. :).
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