One more year to treasure the fantasy of selfless giving. The joy of receiving. The imagination, just before the coming of sleep, to hear reindeer on the roof and the trailing HO HO HO as Santa soars across the sky. Let his dreams mingle with all those sweet youngsters across the globe whose hearts remain open to wonder and delight.
Oh. And one more wish.
From me to Santa.
Hold these young hearts tenderly, give them the magic of dreams.
The wonder of hope. The sweetness of sharing.
Most of all, please let them have memories of this Christmas.
Let them keep this gift tucked away, till the day they too, will pass the love along.
May you have the love of the Child in your dreams, dear friends.
Merry Merry Christmas.
Friday, December 2, 2022
I did not need a Bright Red Warning telling me this. I already know. Aging brains, such as mine, short circuit often and ALWAYS without warning. The word on the tip of my tongue disappears as one more synapse fails to fire. The quiet moment after entering a room wondering why am I here? What was it? Ummm.
So here it is, a few weeks before Christmas, and I am not lost in thought. I am just lost. The experts say that short term memory goes first. The good news is that long ago memories remain intact and often in precise details of where, when and with whom.
I must have known, all those many years ago, when I began the yearly ritual of Christmas letters to loved ones near and far.
It all started in 1989.
As a joke.
As a snarky response.
My dear friend wrote to announce all of her achievements in the previous year, swim coach, newspaper columnist and in her spare time, lessons to become a pilot.
My very first letter was, let us say, rather spiteful. It struck a nerve with its recipients and made them laugh. Laugh out loud and beg for more. An encore for my brand of Christmas comedy.
One letter each year.
Kept in a folder in my desk drawer.
I just finished reading them all.
Smiles and tears.
For this book chronicles the history and the hysteria of our family life,
over the past thirty-three years.
to the Warning Memory System Unavailable.
My memories are not only available,
they are in vivid living color.
Fewer and fewer each year, but I am resolute. I believe that hand written letters, stamped and sent through the mail, may one day save you too. There is a reason for this season. It is NOT a time for texts, or emails or Instagram or Snapchat.
It is a time to take the time to connect with the ones you love in a more tangible form. The kind of connection that can be stored and tied up with a ribbon, and passed down for years to come.
Think about it before memory fails.
How many pictures do you have on your phone? 5,000…more???
They say a picture is worth a thousand words.
But…someday you will look back…and if you are lucky like me, the pictures will flash so much brighter,
with the sweetest compliment,
the words of loved ones and friends.
Take the time.
Send a note. A card.
Don’t be snarky or a braggadocio.
Just care enough to send the very best…yourself.
You may just be more than a memory.
You may just feel loved,
over a lifetime of shared memories.
Merry Christmas Friends!!!