The Christmas card parade continues shrinking. It’s been on a downward trend for years. This year, for whatever reason, the decrease in cards from friends and relatives seems accelerating.
It made sense last year (or maybe not). With Covid raging, people might not have been in the frame of mind to extend Christmas cheer. Our input in the mailbox was down to about 12, if I remember the count from 2020 correctly. Compared to the previous year, that was about a 50 percent reduction. Compared to 20 years ago, who the heck knows?
What I do know is that at our peak, we received 88 Christmas cards. Why do I remember that number? I have no idea. For some reason I parked it in the back of my brain and it stayed there until retrieval. Now it’s being retrieved.
Eighty-eight was a lot of cards. That’s probably why the number adhered to my brain molecules. There was a certain pride in that. People cared to stay in touch. They made the effort. It meant something.
As electronic communications intervened, we’ve lost that. The long, slow decline of letters and things like Christmas cards has bled our connections to others. Rather than taking the time and writing a longer note with some intent and purpose, we shoot short bursts to each other.
Instagram; texting; email; Facebook; Twitter; Tik Tok. You could create your own list of instantaneous and disposable communications. They evaporate into the air after using.
The paper note, on the other hand, is designed for permanency. You keep it. Pull it out and go over it again. Sure, today you probably still get rid of it, tossing it in the recycling bin after a point. But, the joy of the card with a message intact is that it sits out for a while to re-examine over the Christmas holiday season.
One of my joys in early adulthood was returning to our parents’ house in Topeka, Kansas, and pulling out all the cards from families that our mom and dad stayed in touch with, and reading up on what they were doing. Sure, many were boring, and there were couples who I didn’t know at all.
Many of the cards though caught me up on the lives of people I hadn’t heard from in awhile (at least for the past year anyway). We grew up with the kids of friends of my parents. It was nice to know what they were doing, where they lived, if they’d gotten married. Not a lot of information was necessary, but the card and note maintained a solid connection.
That’s what we miss these days as the decline of mailed cards grows. Less and less do we think through our lives and deliver a thought-out piece of writing for someone else to digest, savor and save. Instead, most people have either given that up completely, or our electronic devices suffice instead. Per se, that doesn’t mean those other choices are bad. My point is only that we lose something but not taking extra time to say hi and share some life events with our close friends.
I love letters. Always have. A few friends still send longer, often humorous notes to us this time of year. I smile and nod my head, remembering remarkable times I’ve shared with that individual. If for not other reason, that makes the card worthy of our effort.
It made sense last year (or maybe not). With Covid raging, people might not have been in the frame of mind to extend Christmas cheer. Our input in the mailbox was down to about 12, if I remember the count from 2020 correctly. Compared to the previous year, that was about a 50 percent reduction. Compared to 20 years ago, who the heck knows?
What I do know is that at our peak, we received 88 Christmas cards. Why do I remember that number? I have no idea. For some reason I parked it in the back of my brain and it stayed there until retrieval. Now it’s being retrieved.
Eighty-eight was a lot of cards. That’s probably why the number adhered to my brain molecules. There was a certain pride in that. People cared to stay in touch. They made the effort. It meant something.
As electronic communications intervened, we’ve lost that. The long, slow decline of letters and things like Christmas cards has bled our connections to others. Rather than taking the time and writing a longer note with some intent and purpose, we shoot short bursts to each other.
Instagram; texting; email; Facebook; Twitter; Tik Tok. You could create your own list of instantaneous and disposable communications. They evaporate into the air after using.
The paper note, on the other hand, is designed for permanency. You keep it. Pull it out and go over it again. Sure, today you probably still get rid of it, tossing it in the recycling bin after a point. But, the joy of the card with a message intact is that it sits out for a while to re-examine over the Christmas holiday season.
One of my joys in early adulthood was returning to our parents’ house in Topeka, Kansas, and pulling out all the cards from families that our mom and dad stayed in touch with, and reading up on what they were doing. Sure, many were boring, and there were couples who I didn’t know at all.
Many of the cards though caught me up on the lives of people I hadn’t heard from in awhile (at least for the past year anyway). We grew up with the kids of friends of my parents. It was nice to know what they were doing, where they lived, if they’d gotten married. Not a lot of information was necessary, but the card and note maintained a solid connection.
That’s what we miss these days as the decline of mailed cards grows. Less and less do we think through our lives and deliver a thought-out piece of writing for someone else to digest, savor and save. Instead, most people have either given that up completely, or our electronic devices suffice instead. Per se, that doesn’t mean those other choices are bad. My point is only that we lose something but not taking extra time to say hi and share some life events with our close friends.
I love letters. Always have. A few friends still send longer, often humorous notes to us this time of year. I smile and nod my head, remembering remarkable times I’ve shared with that individual. If for not other reason, that makes the card worthy of our effort.