Tag: Christmas cards

Christmas Newsletters

By Anita Garner

It’s time for holiday newsletters. Stories are what I love. I even like newsletters about people I don’t know. I always looked forward to the mail during the holidays.  Envelopes carried details about what life brought and what it took away during the year.

I used to write a holiday letter every year to tuck inside a card, then made a mad dash to Kinko’s at the last minute to copy enough to fit my list.  (We didn’t all own copy machines then.)  At Kinko’s in Studio City, the staff was made up of sleepy but helpful band members working between gigs.

In San Francisco, I bought boxes of cards from a fancy store, cards so heavy and gorgeous I hated to part with them, waited ’til the last minute to write a newsletter and made the dash to PIP (Postal Instant Press) the North Beach version of Kinko’s, to plead for a rush from more sleepy band members running machines.

Then I stopped sending them.  Now I miss them.  I figure if I want to get some, I’d better send some and I’m starting up again. I’m emailing this year with pictures included.  I wonder if the band members working at copy places will miss me.

I still have some of the fancy cards and I’ll send them to people who don’t have computers, seniors who’ll appreciate the fuzzy Santa’s hat or the glittery snowfall on special paper that requires extra postage.

Mine are going out today. Send some, get some. Any holiday greeting you send will receive a warm welcome here.

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Holiday Newsletters Are Arriving – Fa la la la la!

Here they come again, cards and even better, envelopes bearing holiday newsletters and photos and tales of travels and details about what life brought and what it took away during this year that’s ending soon.

I love holiday newsletters.  I especially like the ones I receive from people with whom I don’t exchange emails all year.  Nor even phone calls. So this is often our one communication and it’s becoming increasingly important. I don’t want to lose touch with people even (especially)  if we’re not really in touch (much.) 

It’s the time of the year for looking at pictures of kids and pets and vacation spots that accompany the stories told within these one or two pages.  Stories are what I love. I even like to read newsletters with stories about people I don’t know.

 In the mail a couple of days ago, I got the newsletter written by the husband of my very first roommate.  I had the honor of being part of their wedding ceremony, back when we were  barely out of our teens. She’s always been a good communicator, so it’s a surprise that the stories of their lives during the year are told by him. It’s a side of him I hadn’t known before our paths took different directions.  I don’t know who takes the pictures that accompany the text – but maybe that’s her part of this annual mailing.

One couple I’ve known for decades – I used to babysit their young children – are now grandparents who are in such close touch with every family member, it’s a joy just to read the updates about these grown grandchildren I’ve never met. These are grandparents who can tell you about college classes and hopes and dreams and plans and romances of each of their multiple grandchildren. 

I have one grandchild – she whose photo will grace my own missives when I get them ready to mail next week – and I have to run to keep up with the goings and comings of this one little girl.  So the couple with several grown grandchildren, this family that travels from all over the U.S. and Europe  to get together each summer for several days – and then includes pictures with their mailings – they’re  my new holiday newsletter heroes this year.

Last season it seemed there was less mail, and I worried about the people who always wrote, but then stopped.  But this year, they started arriving earlier than usual, and there are more of them.  I’m wondering if maybe this tradition matters even more during a time when so many people have had to cut back on so many other things.

Keep ’em coming.  Your newsletters will all receive a glad welcome here.

© Anita Garner 2009