I have a little tradition at this time of year. It’s a tradition that I share with many other people, but not as many as I would like. It’s a little bit old school, some might say a touch outdated.
I’ve made my list, and I’ve checked it twice. I’ve restocked my inventory, lined up at the post office, and now I’m ready to go.
Tonight I start writing my Christmas cards. It’s one of my favourite things about Christmas, and although each year I find it a bit of a push to get them out on time, it’s a challenge I’ll always make time for.
I, like many others, miss letter writing, hand-written words on hand-picked stationary, considered (sometimes drafted) updates from friends and family. As a child, I had wonderful pen-friends from around the world, some who wrote often, others whose letters came less frequently. Regardless, it was always such a thrill to get home from school to find a new letter sitting on my bed waiting for me.
I was so obsessed with getting mail that I made myself a cardboard letterbox which I stuck to my bedroom door with sticky-tape, a personalised letterbox for me to check each day when I got home.
Sadly, I write few letters now days, and although I often receive lovely notes from my mum and grandma, my main fix of mail comes at Christmas time.
And so, I insist on being a little bit old fashioned and sending out my Christmas cards, sometimes accompanied by a photo of the boys or a special little catch-up note. It’s a great way to make sure people know we’re still kicking and where we’re at (important when you move around a bit). It’s a wonderful, simple way to reconnect with friends and family each year.
I received my first Christmas card today from my Grandma Joan, and with a smile on my face I hung it above the window on the string I’d strung, ready and waiting. Now I know that Christmas is nearly here…