Camp Christmas Letter

A wiry, pale man in a Santa suit, stuffed generously with large pillows in every available space, stood on a stump next to a snowy path lined with plywood elves. "Ho, Ho, Ho," his mousey voice squeaked, "welcome to Camp Christmas Letter-- where we take Christmas seriously." I should have turned and run, but the thirty-dollar nonrefundable deposit held my feet to the ground. Santa's pants were slipping down in the back, but he had no idea.
"You have two choices," he called, when his pants gave way and fell, resting atop his black leather boots, exposing pillows stuffed inside oversized long-johns. Spontaneous snickers peppered the small crowd, but we held it together. "You can start with the Yuletide Year in Review class or the Reindeer Wreath of Warmth class," he went on, oblivious.
"How about the Brass Belt Buckle of Hope class," some smart alec yelled. In one burst, we laughed, there was no holding back. Santa struggled to look past the stuffing, then realized the problem and quickly dove for his pants. He lost his balance and plunged into the snow. We didn’t know what to do. Several people ducked onto the Reindeer trail and disappeared. I was caught up in a group that went down the Yuletide path. By the time Santa made it back to the stump, pants filled with snow, everyone was gone.
"A great Christmas letter," Mrs. Claus began the class, "starts with remembering every event of the past year." Her red felt dress strained at every seam, she could've easily filled out her husband’s suit. The class began writing frantically. I panicked; I can’t even remember where I parked the car. This was bad. She stared at me, little round glasses pressed into her plump red face. I broke the stare and looked at the paper. "Help!" I scribbled.
Kathy and I turned 50 this year, that's all I could remember. I completely forgot about the great birthday party Amanda threw for us with friends and family - complete with saxophone quartet, my epic guy golf weekend in Palm Springs, Amanda's graduation with honors from Biola University, Lindsay's high school graduation and acceptance into the pre-veterinarian program at Cal Poly Pomona, her experience as a contestant on WIPEOUT (airing in January), my trip to Morocco, Kathy and Amanda's trip to New York with my sister Sharon and niece Laura, Lindsay's incredible experience in Washington State - inseminating cattle and a myriad of things I can't mention, my new boffo lens, none of it came to mind.
Under "Help!" I wrote, "It was a nice year, we did a lot of stuff and nothing really bad happened." Suddenly a stick, decorated like a candy cane, slapped across my paper, narrowly missing my knuckles. I jumped, the entire class stared. "That's the worst Christmas letter I've ever seen!" Mrs. Kringle scolded, "We take this very seriously!" A perverse sense of joy went through me when I saw her candy cane had broken. Dramatically, she took my paper to the front and tacked it to the wall, next to other, Bad Examples. I was pleased to see that mine was at the top.
Driving down the mountain, I realized how rich we are in family and friends and despite what the "experts" say: It was a nice year, we did a lot of stuff and nothing really bad happened.

Merry Christmas to you and yours.

Jerry, Kathy, Amanda and Lindsay








This was our Christmas letter for 2010. I've been so busy with work, that I haven't been able to write and I miss it profoundly. Blessings to you and yours.