by Mya Greene (Mon Nov 30, 2009)
I have just received my first Christmas card of 2009.
Every year, like the first Fererro Rocher TV advert, it turns up
ridiculously early. Always from the same people. Why they feel it necessary to
send seasonal greetings in November, I will never know. Perhaps it's to give
slackers like myself more time to get organised and return the sentiment.
Don't get me wrong...I love to hear from them...it's the ‘Here comes
Christmas - ready or not' wake-up call I'd rather not be reminded of.
Have you sent yours yet? Please say you haven't.
Christmas cards are a minefield. That's why we put them off until the last
minute. So many things to get wrong. Nuances to miss. Tones to blow. Names to
forget. Connections to confuse.
I make the same mistake every year. I procrastinate until the last moment,
so that the only cards left in the shops are the most sickly and saccharine,
cheapo chocolate-boxy junk...that merely express with great eloquence ‘Happy
Christmas from a tasteless loser. You are so lucky your only contact with me is
through the medium of poor quality greeting cards.'
I torture myself by imagining them opening the mail over organic croissants
and a large cafetiere of Fair Trade Arabica;
‘Who is this from? My God...it's from Mya. It's not on recycled card... it
isn't affiliated to any charity. It's not Tate Modern. Not Banksy. Not even
V&A. I feel slightly sick.'
‘Let me see. Ugh! Kittens in a stocking...please tell me she's being
ironic...for her sake... she's living in France... so we're not likely to bump
into her. Phew!'
And what do you write inside a Christmas card?
Too much, and you risk boring the reader...too little and you can drive them
mad with cryptic ambiguities. Scrawled messages such as ‘Things much better
now...coping well...problems all behind us,' are bordering on cruel to
an Olympic-level nosey parker like myself.
It's a very difficult balance to strike. There is nothing more annoying than
opening a card that reveals precisely nothing apart from who sent it. If you
haven't seen them for a long time...aren't they likely to have some news? It's
nice to be kept in touch...otherwise...you begin to wonder what's the point in
continuing the correspondence?
One solution to this problem is to write an annual family newsletter which
you print out and pop in with every card. I must admit, I have never been a fan
of these. Probably because of the mild humiliations dealt by my parents'
letters over the years. Amongst details of all the academic, marital and social
successes of my sisters, I was usually afforded a bland paragraph buried
somewhere at the end: 'Mya is still searching for her way in life...but she
seems to be happy. We are very proud of her.' Followed by an unwritten ‘Despite
everything.'
I have painful memories of being regaled by my mother with the newsletters
of family friends...
‘Ooh listen to this! It says Anthony, you know their eldest boy...he's a
neuro-surgeon in Geneva. And Poppy? Remember the fat one we used to call
Porky-pops? She's pounding the Milan catwalks...as a model, no less. And their
youngest...with the sweaty hands...the one who had a crush on you..he's just
been awarded the Nobel Prize for...'
I forget now...but you get the picture.
Another card always fascinating to receive is the one featuring the family
photo. I have been known to study these for hours, comparing and contrasting
the double chins, wrinkles and thickened thighs of my contemporaries, with my
own. Obsessing over the neatness of their perfect children and dog. Wondering
why life hasn't chosen to reward me with garlanded mantelpieces crowded with
invitations.
It may have something to do with the card-shaped catastrophes I have
doggedly posted over the years. When it comes to sending the perfect Christmas
card, there is only one thing I feel confident about. It is not just the
thought that counts...it's way more important than that.
