If you are a suburban dweller with kids, a house and a minivan, you are all but commanded by God to find the cutest picture of your tykes, turn it into, oh, 50 holiday cards and send them out to all your friend, sorta friends, kinda friends and family members.
It sucks.
Back when I was a kid, people did this strange thing around the holiday time—they’d buy cards … and write on them. With a pen! A real one! Ink and everything! Hell, you’d even write on the envelope! Really, no printed address labels! Yes, really!
I’m know I’m a whiney complainer, but this truly irks me. If we receive, oh, 25 cards, I’d say one or two have any writing on them. The rest are all merely photos (cute, albeit), shoved in an envelope with an address label printed out and affixed. In other words, somewhere along the line personal touch was completely removed from the holiday card routine.
We’re no different. The wife just printed out the labels two days ago, and off they go—nary a “It’s great having you in our lives” to be found. I’m not sure why this happens, or how it actually happened, but it’s wrong. I love receiving notes. Love it. But cards—yawn. Who cares?
Oh, why I’m writing this! Because today I received a card from my good friend Kim Lionetti, literally agent to the stars. On the frontare five photos of her adorable children. On the back, this: It’s been too long, I feel like I write the same thing every year, but I hope we are all able to get together in 2011! Take care & happy New Year!
That’s what I’m talking about.
