far too much writing, far too many photos

Two Christmas cards found their way to this snailmail address today. That may not be a humongo deal for normal human beings. But for me? A major aberration. With all the skipping across the Atlantic I’ve done these last few years, people from my 3-D life often seem not to know where to find me. (This despite me reminding them that all they have to do is check this page, a reminder I finally stopped giving this last year; they all know I maintain this journal — if where I am matters to them, they’ll keep track.) In addition to which, I’ve taken to disentangling myself from the obligatory yuletide stuff — meaning I buy gifts and send cards only when I genuinely want to. And these last couple of holiday seasons, I’ve made the shift to e-cards, a move I’ve discovered I love. (For those who think the standard e-cards leave something to be desired, there are online haunts that provide some decent alternatives — wading through a Google search is worth it.)

One of today’s two cards came from my only computerless friend, an older guy who simply hasn’t made the leap. If he had, I would have pelted him with an e-card a few days back.

The other card was addressed ‘To Mr. + Mrs. Gustavo ?’ Right street address, down to the apartment number and mail code, at least if they were trying to reach me. Wrong address for the ? family. Wrong building. Wrong street, for all I know.

Yes, of course I opened it — Tina, Colin, Leonie + Amie hope Janet, Gustavo, Alba and Ela are keeping well and they send love.

No last names, no return address. Some in the psychology biz might consider that an indication that the senders didn’t really want the card to arrive. Other, more jaundiced folks might see it as an indication that they just didn’t care enough to make sure the job was done right. Could be either of those, or it could simply be stress, overload, too much stuff going on, too many cards being sent out too quickly.

All I know is I’ve got a Christmas orphan on my hands. Fortunately, there is room at this inn. I’ll hold onto it awhile, quiz a neighbor or two, see what comes of it.


Posters seen up the street — overdoing the holiday festivity thing:

Madrid, te quiero.

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