Christmas Letter

Christmas Letter

December 2005

Dear Loved and Liked Ones,

Another Christmas. Hard to believe that another year has passed. Even harder to believe that each year has been better than the last. But (pinch me) it has!

The children, of course, continue to be the stars of this story and bring me my greatest joy. “Little” Conifer is eighteen years old now, six feet tall and as amazing as ever. He is a freshman at Rice University in Texas now and was single-handedly responsible for saving a dozen stranded squirrels during Houston’s brush with Hurricane Rita. He’s a stellar student too, as was expected. It was so nice of the Rice people to ignore that little incident with the Border Patrol.

Baby sister, Astrid, is Sweet Sixteen now and quite the beauty. I’ve even overheard some undesirables call my baby a “babe.” I’d been told by the Dr. Phil Show that mothers and daughters sometimes clash during the teen years but Caroline and I have remained close. We share so many things. Why, just the other day, she borrowed my credit card to shop at a clothing purveyor called “Victoria’s Secret.” I was happy she felt comfortable enough to reach right into my purse while I was sleeping and pleased that she liked clothing with historical precedent.

Last, but certainly not least, is me. Or, is it I? I’ve had another great year working in the exciting and lucrative world of stocks and bonds. In addition to making critical decisions every day with other people’s money (it’s less stressful than making critical decisions with your own money but it’s still pretty darned stressful) I single-handedly replaced my roof and chaired the “Race for Rosacea” 8K fundraiser. I even managed to run the grueling course myself in the very respectable time of 45:25: 02, a personal best for me. I’m proud to say that we raised $468 to fight this benign, but very unflattering, affliction.

Alas, there’s not one, special fellow in my life these days. But don’t fret, Aunt Ida, it’s only a case of “so many men, so little time.” There are loads of nice DWCPMs out there, not to mention DWJPMs and SWPPMs, just dying to commit to a twice-divorced, 47-year-old woman with teenagers, rosacea and a great sense of humor. I’m sure I’ll be hearing those old wedding bells again as soon as I find time in my hectic schedule for the honeymoon. In the mean time, if anybody knows of anyone acceptable (a pulse and a few brain waves will do just fine) please have him call me at 856-555-HELP.

Well, that wraps it up until next year at this time. We wish you the happiest of holidays and hope that the coming year finds you as blessed, serene and humble as us. We, I mean.

As ever,