Whenever I receive a Christmas letter folded lovingly inside a carefully written Christmas card, I take time, with a cup of tea, to sit back and enjoy the entire thing.
I marvel at what wonderful years that my friends and their families have had, and it warms even the most cold, cynical corners of my fabulous little heart.
This year, my darling younger cousin (he’s fabulous, AND single ladies – inbox me for his number ) has been the only one to send out a Christmas letter, complete with photo, and a string of accomplishments from his year.
I’m still waiting for the one from my previous boss, I look forward to that one every year. This year I hope he mails me the Austrian cookie recipe that his mom used to make for us.
I contemplated writing a letter this year, complete with photo and oodles of glorious details about my perfect life.
I even thought of substituting our dysfunctional family Christmas card with pictures of my kiddo, the pets and I, for a demure folded number with a delicately written one-pager tucked inside.
But who am I kidding? I’m not a delicate one pager. I’m a blood-and-guts-of-it-warrior-writer-of-truths-and absurdity.
Besides, this has not been a year for the record books. My Christmas letter would go something like this;
Well, here it is, the end of 2012. What’s new? Not a whole lot. I did stick to my guns and take a year off of being in ‘relationship’ (with a total douche-sac). That’s been refreshing.
My kid is awesome, but I don’t want to brag too much about it or else it will sound like bragging, and you’ll all think I’m obnoxious.
My book; 20 pages and I’m done, but they’re kinda like the elusive last-five-pounds. It’s going to take some serious pacing, procrastinating, and a month away at a secluded writing retreat with no TV and lots of wine in order to get it finished.
We did have a lovely trip south this year, and it was awesome. So awesome in fact, the police had to pile me on the plane to come home because I didn’t want to come back. Ten days of bliss out of 365 – a sad ratio of bliss:reality.
Le sigh, my french friends, le sigh indeed.
Wait, that’s not quite the ratio. Upon reflection I had awesome times with my mumster, including spa days, and many,many lunches out together. I enjoyed weekend get-aways, and even managed to save my bestie from going to the slammer during a night of, um, well, revelrie. You don’t get to do that very often at this age. Yes, I guess 2012 hasn’t been that bad at all.
Spring found me in a great running routine, and summer out on the river paddling. Fall on the other hand held out a hand of caution and my athletic pursuits were halted because of a health scare. As a result, my new short hair-do is scrumdillyumptious though and brings out my
breasts er, eyes, and gives me a realistic goal – growing my hair long again.
Every weekend I’ve been fortunate enough to be at the AGO, or sharing dinner and wine with friends, or tucked away at a cafe somewhere writing. I’d say the ratio of bliss: reality is more like 365:365, after all, it’s what you make of it isn’t it?
Next year you’ll be emailing me for my new address and passing out my new business cards. I hope. Continued, friendship-buoyed, hope – now there’s a reason to crack the champagne as the calendar flips into 2013.
Put a few bottle on ice for me – I’m anticipating wonderful celebrations to stay in vogue beyond the December 31st/January 1st split. Next year’s letter is going to be dangerously fabulous!
Don’t fret my dears, if your 2012 was as up and down as Lombard street. I’ve heard you, and enjoyed our chats over coffee, on the phone,and your emails. Not every year is letter worthy, but that’s what makes the good times so darn good. If you’re like me, you’ll use your ‘fallow’ years as rich ground to grow your dreams, or at least use them to relax and rediscover the joy of laughter.
Here’s to creativity, love and abundance as 2012 ends with the warm, magical season of light that we call Christmas.