Columns

The Cards In The Mail
By Dorsetta Hale

As usual the stores were filled with Halloween and Christmas items during the first week of September and I swear that I’ve seen Thanksgiving Easter bunnies. So, naturally, when I spotted a whimsical set of handmade Christmas cards, I snapped them right up. Now, I hesitate to mail them for fear they could be destroyed during sanitizing and decontamination procedures. I could just imagine my lumpy envelopes containing cotton balls and feather appliques being pulverized to resemble white powder. My addressees would be too terrified to open them. And who could blame them? It’s a different world.

Our family and friends are spread all across America and abroad. We may not write, email or telephone often, but we always exchange Christmas cards, and with my cards I always send a letter highlighting the significant events of my family. Before I write, I reflect on the past year.

Autumn has traditionally been a time of reflection for me, and this year is no different except that I’m more sensitive to not making unimportant things important because in the scheme of things, I have everything. I live in a country where I can practice any religion I choose or choose not to. If I am wronged, I can seek justice in court. If I want information, I can read a newspaper, a book or magazine, log onto a computer or listen to a radio in plain view for all to see, without fear of persecution.

We’ve always lived in uncertain times. Will the buses or BART trains be on time? Will our planes be delayed? If we lose our jobs, do we have the skills to get another one? Will the power go out and spoil our dinner? Will our daughter’s eyebrows grow back? Will our sons ever buy belts and pull up their pants?

It’s always something, but it could be a lot worse.

Before, I would have complained when my husband came home from the grocery store with six apples to feed six people, to last seven days. I would have been horrified to see that package of whole chicken, not even cut-up, labeled $3.99 a pound. But now I just take a deep breath and make a mental note to stop off at the store the next day.

My blood no longer boils when I go to the freezer for ice and find the tray empty. When an item turns up missing or broken, I don’t bother investigating who may be responsible.

Like a lot of people, I have a high pressure job and have enough to worry about. If I arrive home in one piece after driving Interstate 280 North while dodging maniacs who never got the hang of merging into traffic safely at the Junipero Serra Boulevard exit, I consider myself lucky.

It’s been a rough year, but I’m going to mail my Christmas cards, bumps and all with confidence that they will reach their destinations no matter what the conditions or circumstances.

I live in America. I’m very proud and thankful for that.

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