There's No Place Like Home.

My Mom's cousin Carol used to send out a Christmas letter every year. If you imagine the archetypal Christmas letter, that would be very nearly what came in the mail--except three times worse. It was always about how wonderful the weather in San Diego was and how fabulous her children Willie and Barbie (Seriously. Those are their names.) were and how Barbie's high school water polo team had once again made it to the state finals (Again, seriously.) They were about how her Naval Officer husband was contemplating retirement, while Barbie had put her budding modeling career on hold so that she could go teach English in rural China and Willie was headed off to West Point (Still not kidding.) Being the good, kind, compassionate souls that we are it became a tradition to gather in my Grandparent's cellar on Christmas Eve for the reading of the letter. My Grandfather would read the letter aloud and led by my Uncle-a classic troublemaker-we would make fun of it and, by extension, them.

It's not that I'm against the concept of a Christmas letter. It's a good exercise for yourself to recall all the good things that have gone down for you during the past year. It helps you be grateful for what you've got. Christmas is about sharing and it's a perfectly logical way to share your life with people you don't see very often at all but still care about. And four years of varsity water polo aside, Barbie doesn't seem like a tough girl and rural China seems like a rough environment, so I am curious to hear how this escapade turned out. I guess it's nearly impossible to write about all the wonderful things going on in your life without seeming like you're bragging. And although we may be Catholic, we're New Englanders to the core and bragging doesn't fly.

Christmas cards are more our style. You buy a box of cards at 75% off at the beginning of the year and tuck it in with the tree ornaments for safe keeping. No extra sentiment besides the one provided by Hallmark, a named scrawled along the bottom, an address, a stamp, and you're good to go. It's sufficient.

Apparently, the Red Sox agree with this method of communication. No long missive extolling the benefits of being them, a simple card that says: Thought of you at Christmas time. Thanks for being there. Enjoy yourself.