There’s no hope for me
I have to confess, I’m a failure.
Not only did I not send my Christmas cards to North Pole, Alaska, for a Santa’s hometown postmark, by Dec. 15, I haven’t sent them at all.
I haven’t written my Christmas letter either. I’ve had my digital photos printed, but haven’t picked them up.
It’s Christmas Eve as I write this and I’m pretty sure there will be nothing but a big, fat, black lump of coal in my stocking come Christmas morning.
My mom used to tell me “the road to hell is paved with good intentions.” And now I’ve added another paving stone.
I did write out notes and address all my cards. But once again I have ventured into the zone of the “over achiever” that tends to throw me into the spin of the procrastinator and then into a total state of avoidance.
Instead of sticking a 37-center on the front and slapping a ho ho sticker on the back to seal the deal, the cards sit addressed, messaged on my kitchen counter – waiting.
Like the Kodak commercial of the digital photo of a kid suspended in midair over the pool in a cannon ball that’s still sitting in his mom’s digital camera, my cards sit waiting.
Not in my friends’ and family’s mailboxes. But unsent on my counter. A daily reminder of my failing.
I wanted to add a letter to tell everyone about my trip across the U.S. on the Harley, about my daughter who has finished her first semester as a college student and all that other fun news that I would share if I’d sit down to write the Christmas letter.
But I didn’t sit down.
Writing out my cards was my first holiday duty. And I did it. But then, I made presents, I made goodies, I wrapped presents, went shopping, to holiday parties, out to lunch with friends. And my cards sat. Empty of my letter, without photos, on my counter.
I’ll admit failure, but I won’t admit defeat. I will send them. It may not be ’til next year, but hey, that’s just a week away.
It could be worse I say, hoping the lump of coal will not show, I could have left them in the box.
By taking them out of the box and going through my address book I, at the very least, thought about those friends and family tucked neatly away on the pages of my little book.
I opened it up and for a little while at least relived some great memories with my friends, remembered those family members far away and wished that I had some magic to transport me into each of their homes, into each of their hearts, my hand in their hand.
But wait. That magic lies with the postal system. Governmental though it is, it does just what I wish – for 37 cents.
The photo place is closed, the letter is not written, but I gotta go.
From the family that is the Nevada Appeal we hope all our readers have had a happy holiday season and we look forward to a new year filled with many blessings, hopes, dreams and of course news.
Kelli Du Fresne is city editor for the Nevada Appeal. Contact her at email@example.com or at 881-1261.