Christmas letter

I enjoy getting Christmas letters from friends and family. It's fun to hear from people you don't see very frequently, and be reminded about why you like them. However, many of the letters I receive are filled with lengthy descriptions about children's sporting, academic, and artistic accomplishments. All interesting, but maybe too much information for my already overwhelmed little brain.

The gold standard in Christmas letters was established by my dad's stepfather, Ray W. Tobey. A schoolmaster from darkest Maine, Ray was a curmudgeonly Yankee who somehow got himself appointed to teach the offspring of the famous and monied in Connecticut. His Christmas letters were models of economy, elegance, and, if you had a really strong microscope, humor. Usually no more than one or two short paragraphs, the letters mentioned in passing his limited travels, visits from his wife's children and granchildren, and the natural world around his 19th century farmhouse. The letters were printed, without typos, on glossy paper from a local job printer, and always included a small black and white photo of the farm, the huge pine tree, or some other local landmark. That was it.

Ray is long gone, as is the pine tree. But I unconsciously compare every Christmas letter I receive to those he sent. And is that a bad legacy? As we say in Minnesota, it could be worse...