The Christmas Card

I am a card addict. Although I mess up, I try to remember birthdays and anniversaries. It's fun and people seem to appreciate it. It's always kind of jarring when someone says to me, "Yours was the only birthday card I received."

The oldies love to go to the mailbox. I hate them sorting through my mail but I let it go. It's all junk and bills. I like the mailbox around my birthday (Yeah! Cards for me!) and the holidays.

Lots of people have given up sending Christmas cards due to the hassle, postage costs, etc. Not us! This is my favorite ritual of the holidays and I have every holiday card received for the last 10 years, at least. Many years ago, the husband and I decided to venture away from Hallmark and do an original card for the holidays. We're marketing people -- easy enough!

We forgot a few things. We forgot that we're both Type A and think we can out-concept each other. We still forget that shooting for the perfect photo is like the proverbial needle in a haystack.

He forgets that I hand address every card and at last count, we send out at least 350 of them. (You have to die or be put on the Roman Do Not Mail List to fall off of our holiday card list.) He forgets that it must be printed and some years, art directed. (We know people.)

I love coming up with the concept. I love the debate while he puts his spin on it and we have to defend our own ideas. I love it that he cares about this.

One year, we were not in a good place in our marriage. We had a beautiful card and I struggled with whether or not to send it. In the end, we decided it represented the best of us. Plus, we wanted to extend joyous wishes. By the time those cards hit the mailbox, we were healing.

Don't tell me Christmas cards aren't important.

They Can't Win

This is a sad confession about myself. Some days, the oldies cannot win with me. It's completely my fault and I carry a lot of guilt about it.

If they stay in bed all day, I fret. Are they sick? Are they over medicating? If they're up and around, I get irritated because they're frying or just underfoot.

If they don't leave the house for days at a time, I get anxious. When they venture out, I worry about her driving. I remain on high alert until they are home safely.

Their obsession with the mail bugs me. Yet, if I manage to gather our mail before they do and she ignores it, alarms go off in my brain. Why is she not reading the junk mail to him?

When she throws the ball for Gabby, I am thrilled that she's outside and enjoying the dog. Then, I panic that Gabby will knock her down. (It's never happened but she has knocked me down.)

The Unabomber has a watch that he can push a button and "DING! It's 6:07 P.M." On more than one occasion, I have quipped, "Do you have a date?" Pure ugliness!

They went out for breakfast. I've made a promise to myself. When they return, I will be pleasant and avoid fretting. If they spend the day in bed, I will act like that is the most normal thing in the world. If they're up and about, I will greet them with a smile and kind comments.

I'll let you know how it goes.

You Might Be an Oldie

You might be an oldie if ...

You take your weight in medications.

You spend more time in bed than out of it.

It's 90 degrees and you're cold.

You feel entitled to anything free from the government.

You don't have email and you don't know how to check voicemail.

Knowing where your cell phone is doesn't seem very important.

Your social list is doctor's appointments.

When you get your hair done, you go to the "beauty parlor."

"What are we having for dinner?" is the focus of the day.

Getting dressed is optional.

The mail is a HUGE deal.

Every story starts with, "When I was young ..."

You don't understand what your kids do for a living.

You can't hear and you can't see but you're not interested anyway.

You regularly call your children and/or grandchildren by the wrong name.

You're not worried about global warming or social security running out. It won't be in your lifetime.

Your laptop is not a computer. It's where you balance dessert.

Are you an oldie?