Blog

Like many artists, I design my own Christmas cards. Crystal and I have a system where I paint the image for the card and she chooses the message for the inside. Usually, it is a text from a Christmas hymn. She puts a lot of thought into it. For example, one year I painted a very loose image of a reindeer, which of course leans closer to Santa than to Baby Jesus. Crystal did some research and learned that the reindeer symbolizes wisdom in many northern cultures; the card text included “O Come O Wisdom from on High” (from O Come O Come Emmanuel). It’s a great system.

 

After some 20 years of painting Christmas themed images it has become a challenge to avoid repetition. Long about October this year I said “I wonder what I should paint for a Christmas card this year.” Crystal looked at our dog Neva and said “you should paint Neva in a little elf cap.” I did exactly that, primarily to see what possible hymn text might work. Turns out it was “while mortals sleep, the angels keep their watch of wondering love” from O Little Town of Bethlehem. The painting is titled Feliz Neva Dog, which I realize might be interpreted to be culturally insensitive but, I hope, not to the point that I could lose standing in the generally a good guy club.

 

The other tradition is the letter I include with the card. They can be long, so I imagine some go unread, but even so the feedback has been overwhelmingly positive over the years. Early letters tended highly towards the silly as I tried far too hard and with less than full success to emulate Dave Barry. Over the last decade, there has been a modicum of maturing because yearly updates have by necessity made mention of the passing of loved ones. This year’s insert, included below, is of course tempered by the fact that 2020 has been appendicitis for pretty much everybody.

 

Every year I ponder for a moment or two why we bother. Not the card and message; those will happen until my remains are requisitioned for the pushing up of daisies. Rather, I muse on our stubborn old school insistence on paper and card stock and printing and postage and such. In this digital age it would be faster and more economical and better for the environment to just email everything. But we will not change our ways any time soon. There is something about holding the paper and cardboard in your hand that cyberspace has never been able to equal.

 

Thus endeth the blog about this year's Christmas card. Here follows the Christmas letter that accompanied it:

 

***

 

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair…” 

 

Raise your hand if you think 2020 was the best of times. Anyone? Anyone? I thought so. If Charles Dickens wrote A Tale of Two Cities today, it might begin “It was the worst of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of liver and ashtray flavored wedding cake, it was the age of twenty pounds of used diapers in a ten pound bag…”

 

But that wouldn’t be right, would it? Dickens’ famous opening lines address tension. Tension between good and evil, light and darkness, vision and despair, rich and poor, and so forth.

 

So, for the sake of Christmas, I will not focus on the worst of 2020 times. We ALL live it, and to be honest, most in my circle haven’t had to face the worst of it. Instead, let’s try to find the best of times, the age of wisdom, the epoch of belief, the season of light, and the spring of hope in this ingrown toenail of a year. There’s got to be some.

 

I went from June through September without once having to put on a pair of dress socks or tuck in my shirt, so there’s that. Heck, I think I wore shorts to “telework” all summer. I’ve only had to put gas in the car once a month at most. Best of times? Not even close, but based on the premise that every cloud has a silver lining I’ll take it.

 

Crystal and I actually saw each other every day. In pre-COVID-19 times, there were days when I would leave for work before Crystal woke up and, due to her rehearsal schedule, not see her until 10:00 pm. 2020 gave us a preview of retirement, with both of us being at the same address all day every day. We’ve always known we love each other; this demonstrated that we like each other too and enjoy spending time together. So, yeah, absolutely, let’s call that one for the season of Light.

 

Some experimentation took place. When I first began to telework, I set up in the dining room figuring it would just be a few weeks (Crystal already had full dibs on the existing home office space). When it became obvious that work at home would last more than just a few weeks, I relocated to the backyard outbuilding that originated as, and still is, the art studio. Thus, I re-established a daily commute and took advantage of an incredible picture window overlooking woods for my workspace. Since this turned out to be a wise move, we’ll chalk up a few points for the age of wisdom.

 

We have both been blessed in that we have maintained our employment during this mess. In my case, my desk-bound managerial position is tailor-made to transition to a telework model. For Crystal, it has been more of a challenge. Singing of any kind is a COVID-19 no-no, especially choral singing. Notwithstanding, Crystal has adapted, both at St. Michael’s and for the Greater Richmond Children’s Choir. It has not been easy. You know those Zoom videos of virtual choirs? They don’t just happen by people getting on a Zoom call and singing away. It takes hours and hours to record individually and tons more hours and the right software to put one together. It has taken incredible creativity for Crystal and her helpers to make Zoom rehearsals worthwhile and productive – all in the hope of one day being able to sing joyfully together once again. If that’s not the spring of hope, I don’t know what is.

 

As for the epoch of belief, well, that one has taken a beating. The basest actions of human beings in 2020 made front page news all too often. Recent politics represent Dickens’ “worst of times” indeed. Churchgoers and church leaders have had to wrestle with challenges akin to reinventing sunshine. Notwithstanding, we all must believe it will get better. Here’re some examples.

 

When the lockdown began last spring, there was a goofy black bear showing up in Richmond. We tracked it on social media moving west to east, and know (based on visible evidence of what bears are renowned for doing in the woods) that it came within a quarter mile of our house. The wildlife people finally trapped it in downtown Richmond while it enjoyed bopping around all the newly empty city streets and alleys. Or this: I walked out one morning to get the paper to encounter a fully grown snapping turtle in the driveway. Not to be outdone, other reptiles decided to come out and play throughout the year, which was cool (up to the point when a copperhead snake snacked on our friend Bob; he had a very unpleasant couple of weeks, but is fine now). The point is – as with the dolphins in the Venice canals – these events allow us to believe that the planet will be okay if we just pull our act together and pay attention to Greta.

 

When I turned 60 this year, Crystal got creative and came up with a lovely socially distanced backyard celebration at some friends’ house. It was a beautiful evening, and I cannot envision a better birthday party. One friend brought gifts for me to share with every guest there – homemade facemasks. Life had given us lemons and Anne made lemonade. We can believe that we will endure when we pull our act together and do things for one another.

 

Of course, this being 2020, the anniversary of my birth occurred concurrently with a straw breaking a camel’s back. George Floyd had been murdered just a few days before. As we celebrated the completion of my sixtieth year with wine, good food, and homemade masks, roughly six miles away people marched down Monument Avenue and began taking out centuries of frustration on Richmond’s Confederate monuments. This has been controversial, and perhaps some readers of this letter may feel that vandalism should not be honored or even accepted.* But for me, it was a giant lightbulb turned on about why those blankety-blank statues should have sailed off into the sunset generations ago. These occurrences allow us to believe that it is never too late to learn, regret, listen, and love.

 

The Epoch of Belief? Absolutely.

 

The saying “May you live in interesting times” is purported, inaccurately, to be an ancient Chinese curse. All the same, as curses go, it’s pretty good. 2020 represents “interesting times” indeed. Hopefully, the best of times are not far off, especially if we pull our acts together and strive towards the age of wisdom, the epoch of belief, the season of light, and the spring of hope.

 

Let’s start simply, with a Merry Christmas. The unpretentious and peaceful Charlie Brown kind, where there were in the same country shepherds….  Even if social distancing and “virtual” contact is how your Christmas must happen, take the season to breathe and renew. Then let’s all lift a glass to a healthy new year.

 

Peace to you. 

 

Crystal & Anthony

 

* It should be noted, however, that dumping tea into Boston Harbor a few centuries ago was entirely an act of vandalism. Just saying.