It’s that time of year for corporate “thank you” letters and e-mails. The type that arrives with the year’s final electric bill or an auto insurance renewal. They come from some remote CEO or an unknown Vice President of Corporate Communications, jotted thoughtfully as the final numbers are being crunched out of the old year.
These notes kindly ask their readers to “take a moment” before zipping off like a bobsled to that merry whirl of holiday festivities. They thank you for your business—“we’d be lost without you.”
There’s a brief year in review couched in New Year’s anticipation—“We accomplished a lot together this year; here’s how we’re going to exceed your expectations in the year to come.”
They end with “warm wishes” for “insert pale politically correct seasonal description here.”
Like a cup of instant hot cocoa, they briefly warm your cup on the longest evening of the year.
The writers probably think no one reads these sentiments…I do. I planned a whole blog post today of commentary on some of my “holiday mail.” Then I decided I’d write my own “thank you” letter to my blog readers, modeled on one I recently received.
Before the holiday festivities begin, I wanted to take a moment to send you, my blog readers, the very best wishes for a Merry Christmas this coming weekend.
2016 was a wonderful year for the blog; we baked cakes and cookies and lived to write feature stories about them. Handy found a gas grill and a riding lawnmower (among other things) and continued to make life easier here at the old house on the hill. Together, dear readers, we navigated a new blog schedule, going from three days a week to two (Mondays and Thursdays).
We grew tomatoes in abundance and fought off enemies of garden bliss, like cut worms, groundhogs, and squirrels. We celebrated birthdays. We read books. This work of living life was accomplished by coming together as writer and reader.
The New Year, God willing, will bring more of the same–more food writing, more tomatoes, and more opportunities for blog content. There will be indignities and disappointments, no doubt. We will persevere through them every Monday and Thursday.
Thank you for stopping by (like Robert Frost’s character in his poem “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”) to watch my digital woods fill with metaphorical snow. I know you have other internet promises to keep as you pause at this quiet outpost in the ether.
Until Boxing Day, I remain,
Yes, we have passed the Solstice. From here on out the days only get longer until the Summer Solstice. The plants on my porch made it this far, certainly it will only get better for them as well.
Oh, it’s snowing outside. Again. I forgot where I was.
Better get used to it, LP…