Friday, December 21, 2012

December 21 – “On the Christmas letter”


Well, we are finally into the twenties.  No, I don’t mean degrees.  This is Galveston, you know.  Tropical Island off the coast of Texas.  I mean twenties as in dates.  The few days before Christmas.  The “most wonderful time of the year,” and all that.  And on top of all that, the world didn’t come to an end at midnight.  Always a plus.  But a special thanks to the Mayan guy who carved that calendar and provided us with all the excitement over the last few weeks.  We spent much of the day yesterday printing and folding and addressing and stamping.  Yep.  That means the infamous Vaughan Christmas letters are ready to read.  They will be put in the mail today.  Mail.  That’s one of those antique ways of communicating with people where a nice guy dressed in red walks around the neighborhood with a big bag on his back delivering toys to all the good little girls and boys.  Wait.  I got a little ahead of myself.  I mentioned it was getting close to Christmas, right?  The guy who brings mail is the one who dresses in blue and walks around the neighborhood and carries the big pack on his back and delivers, well, sometimes toys.  See how I could get confused? 

I like to get that old kind of mail.  Snail mail.  Kind of has a ring to it, doesn’t it?  You wait anxiously, checking outside every so often for a glimpse of that blue suit guy.  And then when he walks up onto your porch, you pretend like you are busy so he doesn’t see how excited you are.  And then as he walks away to the next house on the block, you wait until just the right moment, when you are pretty sure he won’t hear the commotion behind him and actually turn around and catch you red-handed checking your own mailbox like you are some kind of thief.  That’s when you can leap through the front door and pop open the lid and gaze at the wonders that have been hand delivered to your door.  It could be anything.  Oh, sure there are usually plenty bills.  Plenty of bills.  And junk, too.  Lots of that stuff.  You know.  Ads for the local dentist or for pizza.  A special notice that you have been preapproved for a brand new credit card.  Maybe one of those “you may have already won…” notifications.  But then there may also be, especially at this time of year, that wonderful creation of marketing genius, the Christmas card.  Who could have predicted how successful that idea would become?  A piece of paper, folded in half.  On one side a random picture of a winter scene or Santa Claus or a tree.  A cheesy bit of verse or quaint saying in the middle.  And the best part of all, you don’t have to come up with anything substantial on your own.  It’s not like you are writing a letter or anything.   All you have to do is sign it, basically placing your “ditto” on whatever wish or wisdom the creative mastermind has provided for you.  Put it in the envelope graciously provided for you, stick a stamp on the front, which, by the way, you no longer have to lick, and … get this, it’s the best part … attach it with a clothes pin to your mailbox for that wandering bag-toter to take with him as he continues on his appointed rounds. 

So, I love snail mail.  I especially love Christmas cards.  Once a year we get photos and a quick summary of family history and an updated address so we will know where to send the card next year.  That’s a hint.  If you want a copy of our Vaughan Family newsletter, send me a Christmas card.  That’s part of the unspoken protocol, isn’t it?  If you get a card from someone, you have to send them one back.  Hmm.  I guess I need to put one aside for the CEO of Palais Royal.  He sent me a very nice card.  Even included a ten dollar coupon.  Who else …

Psalms 48:10 says, “Like your name, O God, your praise reaches to the ends of the earth; your right hand is filled with righteousness.”

Father, thank you for all those people we hear from at Christmas.  Make them really happy in the coming year.  Amen.

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