We decided to do a Christmas letter again this year after the PowerPoint debacle of last year. If you didn't get one, it's probably lost in the mail or caught in one of the power sorters of the PO. They were not hardy discs and few of them survived the trip.
So, a week ago, I write my first draft. I knew it didn't have the edge. It came too slow and was too sappy and predictable. There was no punch. It was like a Christmas letter from Plaid Pants Village. Hope for the best. Regis said we can't send out a Christmas letter like the kind we make fun of. You know those braggy and pretentious letters about the wonderful year and all the smart kids and well-mannered dogs.
My Aunt Chris wrote the best Christmas letters. They were Erma-Bombeckesque (hey, good word) and kind of stream-of-consciousness if your consciousness had a little brandy floating through it. She would write things like this: I'm making six dozen peanut blossoms tonight...oh hear comes the the damn dog thru the kitchen...Bud, turn on the porch light..somebody better get those cookies out of the damn oven. (Hey, this could be the branch of the family tree where I get my trashy language.) They were a grand read and funnier than hell in a time when Christmas letters were mostly stupid.
Regis is anxiously awaiting the predicted snow storm. The big stumbling block is that the basement child has her belongings in the garage and the snow blower is behind all that crap. It could be a problem but I don't think it will prevent him from being excited about the possibility of a blizzard. We need one like we had in the 60's...or even like we had in the mid-90's. Those were blizzards.
Well, back to the Christmas letter. Maybe I'll publish some our old triumphs here. We had a few good ones.