My first memory of sending Christmas cards was helping my grandmother at her kitchen table. Everything she needed was staged on a white plastic tablecloth covered with poinsettia designs. She had a damp sponge sitting in a saucer on the table for my job: to seal the envelopes and affix the stamps. It seemed that she wrote a letter in each card, but I don’t know how many cards she ever sent. Even as a young girl, it seemed an arduous task. When I asked her about it, she told me it was a nice way to stay in touch. At the time, I thought it was odd not to call people on the phone and instead, send them cards.
Aside from my grandmother, we were never a big Christmas card family, and I never sent any myself before getting married. I don’t remember how my husband, Marc, and I decided to send cards, but I imagine it was during my Martha Stewart homemaker phase. We still use our wedding invitation list from 25 years ago now which has developed into our main address list. Over the years, our card list has expanded to include neighbors, colleagues, and anyone who managed to find our address and send us a card first.
We used store-bought cards for a year or two, but then decided to make our own photo postcards. Part of the joy of creating these cards has been selecting a photo that is meaningful to us. Whether it’s us posing inside a plastic shark jaw at Scripps Aquarium, selecting the “purrfect” photos of our cats, sharing images of the San Francisco peaks, or admiring a little Oregon junco situated on a snow-covered pine branch, it’s always fun to consider what part of our lives to share. I also love that it’s always a team project. I write short notes, Marc affixes the stamps, no more sponges required. We sit next to each other on the sofa and remind each other of each friend and family member through retelling funny stories or recounting their recent holiday card news for us as we address and stamp each card.
We’ve had a busy fall, and I’m just now noticing the date and feeling a little bit of stress settling in. It’s getting late to have cards printed. As I sit at my desk to type this essay, I have to move bundles of paper from its surface to the floor, including a stack of recent, and still unopened, mail. I wonder about sending holiday cards this year. My own inertia coupled with a desire to not add to the destruction of the planet by wasting more paper are my main reasons for not sending cards. But how much damage can one card—a personal connection—do to the environment in a sea of holiday catalogs reminding us that we can ship express for free up until December 23! Which is more desired by family and friends?
Let’s be honest: last-minute free shipping is pretty attractive.
Perhaps we are all struggling with inertia this year. To me, it looks like a combination of exhaustion and questioning the purpose of some of these holiday traditions. In my heart, I believe these small cards are meaningful in their own way. They remind others we’re thinking of them, and in turn, we are also on someone’s mind. But won’t my well wishes also wind up as part of someone else’s stack of unopened mail and perhaps cause unintended stress before the holidays? What if another friend simply can’t send cards this year and here I am, reminding them of something they may have had to let go.
I feel as though I’m taking on the mantle of Andy Rooney about to bah humbug! my way through a screed against wastefulness and joyful greetings. But then I remember my most favorite Christmas card of all.
The card was from Marc. He had been working hard since Thanksgiving that year hand-making and drawing all of his Christmas cards for his friends and family. Each card was a miniature art piece considering each individual recipient and what they might love. I was excited to see what he had drawn me. I ran my hand over the bumpy watercolor paper card depicting a pine tree in a snow-covered field at sunset. Maybe he had some suspicion we’d be moving to Flagstaff eventually.
I opened the card, closed it, and put it on the living room table. I thanked him for drawing then picked up a present to unwrap. Marc watched me closely for a moment and then asked if I had read the card.
“Yes, honey, it’s beautiful,” I assured him.
He wrinkled his eyebrows.
“Really? You read it?”
“I love it!” I exclaimed, noticing his face getting redder. I had a sinking feeling that I said the wrong thing. Marc picked up the card from the coffee table and handed it to me again.
“I really need you to read the card.”
“But I did!”
“No, I don’t think you did.”
“It’s beautiful!” I said again.
“Read. The. Card.”
I opened the card. Marc had written
“Merry Christmas, Stacy. Will you marry me?”
Even though I missed this proposal, somehow he still married me.
This weekend, we’ll look for our favorite photos from this year and begin the process of creating the cards. I’ll head down to the post office to send them off, but probably not by December 25. I can feel the stress dissipating as I remember the joy these friendships and holiday card recipients have brought me. I’m convinced that our friends will enjoy getting cards any time before February. I’m sure of it.
