Christmas Day, 2016

Each Christmas that comes now is different. Not better, not worse, just different. I was reading a blog the other day where the writer remarked that she and her husband  “always have a glass of sherry and a mince pie on Christmas Day afternoon.” The idea of “always” seems a little foreign to me now.

No Midnight Mass for us—we would both fall asleep before it even started—but an early Mass this morning, followed by a nice breakfast for two, not the big ham breakfast for the whole family that has been our custom. It was rather pleasant and certainly restful to drink coffee and read the newspaper before putting together the dish I was taking to Christmas dinner. And what a dinner! Peter and Lucy hosted us in their new house which has plenty of room for the Detroit part of the family, and it was wonderful to be in the company of out two youngest grandchildren, who had nine cousins and their big sister to keep them occupied. Technology brought us two FaceTime encounters with the DC part of the family and with my brother and his family celebrating in Barton Mills. Lots of loud noise and handwaving as everyone tried to make contact.

Another readily apparent change this Christmas is seen in this photo of the basket where we always put the Christmas cards we receive. Although we can explain the lack of cards by saying that so many of our friends are infirm or in way too many cases now dead, I know from talking to younger friends that the exchange of Christmas cards is becoming a dying custom. I am saddened by that fact, but I regret to say that this was not a Christmas for us to send cards or the customary letter—and last year was not either. I have thought lovingly of old friends and I fully intend to make up for my failure with some letters in the new year, but we all know where good intentions lead. I fear the age of Christmas cards is destined to become the era of Christmas tweets.

Autre temps, autres moeurs.