Write On

I've made apologies on this blog before, but they are generally for deeds long since past. Events that have become part of the firmament and therefore easily forgiven. This one is more about an ongoing condition that rears its head each year about this time. I'm talking about, of course, inscribing Christmas cards.
For the longest time, the torture I associated with the Christmas season was posing for my family's annual holiday greeting. My brothers and I knew it was coming, and my expression in any number of these photos bear witness to my utter lack of enthusiasm. "Merry Christmas from the Cavens, except for our son David who passed away quietly after this picture was taken from acute ennui." Not pretty. That's why it was such a relief when I got married and was able to start my own family's tradition of drawing a clever cartoon gag and some clever quip on the inside. Relatively painless. Until I realized that, as patriarch of this clan, I was required to "write a little something" on each and every card that we sent out. Our list hovers just below one hundred recipients, and simply signing one's name that many times is challenge enough. Writing something intimate and clever on every one of those same cards? Bring back the endless photo shoot, please.
And yet, I persevere. Over the past few years, I have set aside a particular time to knock them all out at once, much in the same way that I have attacked the chore of report cards for an entire class. Each comment is carefully considered, and depending on the point in the process that I get to your card, the sincerity level may have slipped just a smidge. I regret that I only maintain a certain amount of holiday cheer, and that it comes in waves. I try to make each epigram as unique and singular as a snowflake, but fifty cards into that pile I start to question my own commitment.
That's when the little voice in my head says, "Take a break, Dave. You're tired. Come back when you're fresh." I show that little voice the back of my hand and sneer menacingly enough for it to slink back into the shadows of my mind. Music helps, like most chores, but it starts to skew too close to Jingle Bells, I hit the "next" button. A few years back, I made the ill-advised choice to watch a movie while I was writing notes to all my friend and relatives. I could have picked "It's A Wonderful Life" or "Holiday Inn." Nope. The movie I chose was "Fight Club." On the plus side, I finished in record time, but I can't account for all the comments I may have scrawled as the movie and I neared the end. For those of you at the end of that list, I apologize. This year, I stayed away from the TV for the most part, and if that didn't make a difference, I'm sorry. Just don't make me pose for any more holiday snapshots, please.