Saturday, December 31, 2016
the 365 days of christmas
Christmas is a time for eating. And, this morning, I am dining on a fine plate of crow.
One of the dangers of writing in absolute terms is that a writer's words often come back to haunt him. Take this line from Tuesday's essay (relations of sacrifice). "I wrote Stephanie to thank her for the card and told her it would serve double duty -- as my sole Christmas card and as my earliest birthday card. "
My friend Stephanie had sent me a birthday card that had arrived a month before my birthday. The essay was extolling the virtue of discovering personal correspondence in my postal box.
I have been called to task before for such bold assertions. My friend Roxane was the first to point out that she had hand delivered a Christmas card to me at breakfast two weeks ago. And a very nice hand-painted card it was -- as you can see, right up there.
My excuse was rather lame. I told her I was writing about cards received in the mail. But I did not find it very convincing myself.
Then, yesterday, paid was put to my little charade. But, I was not chagrined.
Regular readers will recall that one of my best friends from law school, Patti, died just over a year ago (the circle tightens). She was very faithful in sending me a Christmas card each year. Often, in the form of a family portrait of her, Ken, and their daughter, Kimmy. This was the second Christmas I would not receive my usual gift.
What I did receive was my third Christmas card of the season -- from Kimmy. She is the type of thoughtful young lady who believes that traditions should always survive.
And, wonder of wonders, she mailed it from Olympia on 9 December. If you have followed the chronology of my tale, you already know it arrived here in Mexico just three weeks later. Talk about your miracle on Clemente Orozco street.
So, here I sit, digging into my second serving of crow, and being thankful that I have friends like Stephanie, Roxane, and Kimmy, who understand that the good news of Christmas is best carried out amongst those whom we encounter on this lovely highway that is life.
And, best of all, it is a spirit that knows no temporal boundaries.