I finally, eventually my wife noted, got to the point in the holiday festivities where I read the Christmas cards we received (and exchanged) with others. I'm very proud of myself--some years I've failed to do this entirely and my wife has spent until close to Presidents Day glaring at me (I always blame Washington and she always blames me so we're even).
Again this year, as a continuation of the 'Gee, You are an Obliviot' portion of the season, I not only sent no one any cards, I have no idea what the card looked like that my wife sent on our behalf to people who have long since figured out that they know at least one boorish moron, me. I am fortunate to be married to a person with a marvelous set of skills and talents as well as a nearly terminal case of love for feeling impaired cretins. And yes, many people I know do believe I could have stopped the previous sentence after the sixth word and been entirely correct.
It was fun to see one of my sister's two daughters--had their photo not been in Jill and Joe's card, I would have had no idea who they were and would have assumed they were friends, perhaps, of my daughter, Michelle. Upon further thought, I realized that I would have difficulties identifying Joe and not fare much better picking out Jill. Perhaps that could be a New Year's resolution: NOT needing a DNA match to know what my five siblings look like.
We had a card from former neighbors who now live near New London, Wisconsin (how amazing is that I wonder) whose two children were much smaller when they lived here almost a decade ago and whose younger of the two, their son, now stands, at fourteen, head and shoulders over his older sister, his mother and his Dad. Welcome to the club, David. I, too, spend a lot of time looking up when my son comes to visit.
We had a nice note from a former boss and his family who has gone on to much bigger and better things, than knowing me, and whose wife, I suspect, runs his household the way my wife manages ours. He has a better personality than I do (we have a coffee table with a better personality than I have) so it's more a 'team effort' than in our house and I suspect he never responds to someone thanking him for a Christmas card, as I have annually, by saying 'you're welcome. Who are you?'
I used to get angry at Christmas, not at the Savior (I'm crazy; not stupid) and smelled hypocrisy in every greeting card and fruitcake and holiday cookie--after all, I reasoned (or thought I did) many of these came from people who, the rest of the year would cross the street rather than say hello to me as we passed. But as I've rusted (not mellowed) I've started to see a kind gesture of remembrance as just that and have stopped answering with a (rude) gesture of my own.
It's not that life is too short, though I found out this year in my own extended family, that is certainly the case--but because life is too important to not enjoy ALL of it, the hopes and the hype, the dreams and the dread. All of those make our lives singular and remarkable within our families, our places of work, our neighborhoods, our cities and towns, and these United States (with my apologies to Our Town). The trials and travails of 2009 will be here in a matter of hours, and in some spots on this orb, that year has already begun, so forgive me if I encourage you to linger for a moment in the Here and Now, not to look at where we were this time last year and where we are today, but to simply celebrate today and tonight for what it is and we are. After all, it's the same procedure as every year, James. Hurrah! Wir leben noch.
-bill kenny
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