Category Archives: Christmas newsletters

The End Of An Era For Me?

Everyone has an opinion of these iconic fixtures of Christmas.  When I was younger, they had a negative reputation, but I never saw them that way.  What am I talking about?  The Christmas newsletter.

Most of us have memories of families who would create a story so fantastic that their lives glowed brighter than the sun.  Some of us have remembrances of tragic letters filled with negatives that left a sour taste in our mouths for days.  However, I feel that these extreme correspondences are the outliers.  The vast majority of Christmas newsletters are vehicles of connection. They join us with a relative or friend and keep us abreast of the essential milestones in their lives.  

Take a person’s Facebook posts and combine them with the posts of other members of their immediate family.  Remove all of the junk, the reposts, the cartoons, and the lame jokes.  Get rid of the majority of the selfies, and add order and cohesion to the storyline.  Then condense all of that information into one or two typed pages.  If you are successful, you have created a Christmas newsletter.  An amazing document.

Julie’s family has farmers, and their newsletters would educate me about farm life.  I always looked forward to reading about their trials and triumphs. Newsletters allowed me to keep up with my college friends. They provided a summary of missed information from those for whom I had more regular content. Newsletter gave me a window into some of my cousin’s lives, individuals with whom I only connected once a year.

Those who send newsletters adopt their own styles. I have received half-sheets of copy paper roughly typed and without adornment. I have also gotten elaborate stories carefully margined onto fancy bordered linen.  Every newsletter has its own charm and purpose.

A newsletter shows effort on the sender’s level and provides a level of intimacy with the receiver.  This is in contrast with those who only send a signed card.  The only information that such an offering gives me is that a person can still sign and stamp.  

I have been writing a Christmas newsletter for around 30 years.  My initial interest in creating one had more to do with computers than it did with communications.  I was fascinated with the ability to do desktop publishing, and I was in the practice of creating brochures and other items for my medical group, Genesis Clinical Services. Initially, the Christmas newsletter was an extension of that interest.  For me, it was the perfect “modern” vehicle to connect with those with whom I wanted to stay in touch but was remiss.

I always structured my newsletter with three main categories.  Naturally, there would be news of the year.  This was standard newsletter fare.  Highlights, trips, illnesses, successes, and failures.  I wanted the story to be readable and engaging instead of a bulleted list of pros and cons.  I always included at least one family photo.  Lastly, I would provide a recipe that my family made and enjoyed.  This last part was a way to share something of value with my friends and family.  Think of the recipes as e-cookies or an e-casserole. In my Eastern European tradition, food is love.

Over the years, I have made many equipment purchases for the Christmas newsletter.  I bought my first laser printer and my first color laser printer specifically to produce a better product.  My first home scanner was bought to scan photos for the newsletter, as was my first-ever digital camera, a $750 Kodak model that could record a photo in VGA resolution (a tiny 0.3 megapixels).  That mid-1990s camera catapulted me into the world of digital photography, a passion that continues to this very day.

Over the years, the Christmas correspondence scene has changed, or at least it has changed for our household. Every year we get fewer cards and even fewer newsletters.  The majority of cards that we receive arrive after we send out our newsletter. I have never been sure if the sender’s lateness was due to procrastination or social reciprocation.  In other words, they sent us a card because we sent them one.

For years I have asked myself if I wanted to continue the practice of sending out 80-90 newsletters at Christmas.  The cost has been a consideration since I have professionally printed them for the last few years.  Time is also a factor, as every newsletter requires many individual steps. I have to chronicle the yearly events of 5 people in less than two pages, come up with a recipe, and find (or take) a photo or two. I have to coordinate this information with Julie, who also serves as my chief proofreader. Despite all efforts, I usually find a typo in my final product-not surprising as I have dyslexia, but embarrassing none-the-less. 

The creation of the Christmas newsletter has remained important to me, but not for the obvious reasons.  The newsletter has become a summary of my family’s history, and a copy goes into our Christmas book. This is the most important reason why I will continue to write the newsletter.  It is the same reason why I write this blog. I want those who come after me to know me as a real person, not just a faded image on an ink-jet printed photo.  I want the generations that follow mine to understand our family and see its members as individuals who had real lives.  So often, I look at an old family photograph and ask, “What was this person really like? What did they have a passion for? What made them angry? What made them happy?  How am I like them? How am I different?” A picture can be worth a thousand words if properly executed.  However, most snapshots provide only the smallest window into the past.

It has become less relevant to send a physical copy of the newsletter over the last few years.  I can publish it on Facebook or email it instead.  Yes, there are a few folks where those types of communications are not possible, but in most cases, it is clear that they have little interest in catching up with the Kunas of Kunaland.

This year I finally cut the cord with snail mail. I wrote and formatted the letter and posted it on Facebook, and sent a few select emails.  This simplification was a relief.  I didn’t have to go to Staples, or get confused with how to mail-merge labels, or coerce my kids into stuffing and stamping envelopes.  Those friends who want to catch up on our lives can; those who would prefer to scan past the post are welcome to do that too. I’ll print up a couple copies for our Christmas book and a few for Julie to send to specific people.  My plan is to continue my newsletter writing into the future, but gone are the days of stamp and stuff. 

I don’t see this year as the end of an era; I see it as the beginning of something new.  Times change, and it is OK to change with them.

Merry Christmas to you.  Peace on earth, goodwill to all.

Mike   

Christmas In Cold Minnesota

I could see the outline of the Minneapolis-St. Paul skyline from my window seat as the plane banked to the left. The year was 1989, and I had just finished taking part II of my Psychiatry Board exam at the Hennepin County Hospital in Minneapolis. I felt that I had done well, and I was feeling a sense of relief.  This was my first time visiting the Twin Cities, and I remember thinking that this visit would be not only my first but also my last. There was no reason to return.

December 1991, I packed two suitcases into the tiny back seat of my 1988 Mustang GT convertible. My Mustang had a brilliant white body, accented by a dark navy blue ragtop. She was sleek, sexy, and very fast.  The GT drove like a dream on dry pavement, but it could be treacherous with the slightest bit of snow. This latter fact concerned me as I was about to embark on a 450-mile trip up north.

I started the car’s engine and rotated the heater knobs to warm the cabin and defrost the windshield.  I reached over the passenger seat, grabbed my yellow window scraper, and started to hack the ice and snow off the windshield.  I waited for the car to warm up before going back into the house to get my girlfriend. I was already feeling anxious.

She was also feeling nervous, but we were both playing it cool.  Soon we were whizzing down I-88, then I-39, then I-90. We made random conversation and tried to appear calm.  Our hidden anxiety evidenced by our frequent detours to interstate rest-stops. I would have to stop, then she would.  Our suddenly overactive bladders were providing a window into our inner emotional state.

We had started dating in July, and a few months later she had asked me to travel north to spend Christmas with her family who lived in a rural town outside of the Twin Cities. I had given up on all dating for almost two years before that July. I had decided that the whole courtship process was too stressful and I had made a commitment to myself to live a single life. I was happy with my choice, but I also felt like something was missing. I met her at a random meeting one week before she was to leave our workplace to return to graduate school. We sat next to each other at that meeting, and we started to chat; a week later I asked her out on a date… now we were driving to Minnesota.

The drive was long, the air was frigid cold. We drove through the Twin Cities and got onto Highway 55, traveling west towards the town of Buffalo.  My heart was beating faster as we drove down the narrow road, past farms and frozen fields. Finally, we arrived at Buffalo, the county seat of Wright County.  A town of 10,000 surrounded by Buffalo Lake, Lake Pulaski, and Deer Lake. Julie’s parent’s house was on Buffalo Lake. We pulled up a large circular driveway at the back of the house.  There were cars already parked, we were not the first to arrive.

There was no need to knock, and Julie opened the back door and walked in.  I followed with my suitcase and a large gift basket that I brought as a hostess gift. We were greeted with welcomes and hellos.  Everyone was excited to see Julie and curious to meet me. I was satisfied with smiles and the smell of dinner cooking in the oven. I’m naturally shy, and I quickly donned my more social alter ego.  A smile on my face, I moved forward boldly.

The day consisted of polite questions, good food, and parlor games. At some point, Christmas gifts were opened. Julie’s father, Bob requested that she play a piano duet with her sister Kathy.  They dutifully banged out a few Christmas carols. At some point, Julie and I walked to Buffalo’s downtown, which was only a block away. At the town’s grocery store Julie ran into several residents, all of them wanting an update as they looked at me with questioning eyes. At another point, Bob loaded me into his old Lincoln and drove me directly onto Buffalo Lake.  As a city boy, I was confident that we would plunge to our deaths believing that the weight of the car would crack the ice beneath its wheels. It did not, and I lived another day. That night the temperature dropped to -19 F, I got ready to go out and warm up the Mustang to make sure that it would start the next morning. Julie’s brother-in-law, Karl quizzically looked at me, “Why are you starting the car, it is only -19?”  I was definitely in Minnesota!

Despite my shyness, I soon felt comfortable and fell back into my real personality.  Julie’s family is very Swedish, and I’m Eastern European by heritage. Some of their customs were different than mine, but I was more aware of our similarities rather than our differences.  I wondered how many men she had brought up to Buffalo through the years. I found out later that I was the first, and only one.

Today is December 25, 2018. I write this post from Burnsville, Minnesota, a suburb of Minneapolis.  I arrived here yesterday with Julie and our three children. Running late, we traveled directly to Faith Covenant Church, My sister-in-law and brother-in-law’s home church.  There we met the rest of the family as we celebrated Christmas Eve with a candlelight service.

After church, we returned to their home. We had interesting conversation, good food, and played games.  We caught up on each other’s lives. This morning we opened gifts, ate more, talked more, and played more games. As I write this some of us are reading, some are playing the board game, “Risk,” two are finishing the construction of a Christmas present, two are completing a jigsaw puzzle, I am writing this post. Today I learned that Oregon produces the most Christmas trees, and the dentist elf in the TV special, “Rudolf The Red Nose Reinder,” name is Hermie. Knowledge is power!

I have been traveling to Minnesota for the last 27 years, not only for Christmas but for other events too. I have long lost any anxiety when visiting my wife, Julie’s side of the family. After all of these years, her family is my family. In 1989 I thought that I had completed my one and only trip to Minnesota.  Twenty-nine years later I have been here over 100 times. Dear reader, life is full of surprises.

Why I Write A Christmas Newsletter In 2018

When I was growing up our dining room table served many essential functions, and most of them didn’t involve eating. Yes, we did serve Thanksgiving dinner and Christmas dinner in the dining room, but that was about it for our culinary experiences there.

During normal times the table was a repository for coats, packages, and books. It is where I did my homework every night in grade school. It was where my mother would be up all night typing my brother Dave’s college term papers. And it was where we wrote out our Christmas cards. I know my mother was the family’s principal card writer, but I have a vague memory that my father was also involved.

Our dining room table was in the Duncan Phyfe style, and it was huge, old, and dusty. It had a sheet of glass on it that protected its non-Formica top and gave it a cold and hard feeling when touched. Around it was 6 creaky chairs. The rectangular dining room of our 1920s bungalow held the table along with an equally old and ugly spindly legged buffet. Kitty corner from the buffet was my mother’s sewing machine, housed in a boxy imitation mahogany cabinet.

My mother bought the machine at Goldblatt’s department store on a special where the machine’s “furniture” cabinet was thrown in to sweeten the deal. The device was made in Japan at a time when this did not mean quality. It was a constant source of frustration for my mother who always complained that its tension mechanism was too tight.

Early in December the dining room table would be cleared of its holdings and repurposed with boxes of greeting cards, rolls of stamps, and sheets of return address labels. A long evening followed with my mom (and possibly my dad) signing and addressing dozens of cards. We didn’t have self-stick stamps or address labels in those days, and I would usually be employed as the licker.

We tended to buy off-brand of cards as Hallmarks were too expensive. The card’s style varied from year to year, sometimes religious, sometimes Santa-ish. My mother’s goal was to get the most beautiful cards at the most reasonable price.

I would sit and watch her expertly sign and address each card, amazed with her neat and precise handwriting. My handwriting was terrible, so bad that a nun once tried to humiliate me by making me write my assignments on control paper. That is the multi-lined stuff that primary level kids use to make sure that they correctly spaced their uppercase and lowercase letters. I remember watching my mom write while thinking to myself., “When I grow up I’ll have neat and precise handwriting too.” Well, I grew up and became a doctor, and those stories about doctor’s handwriting are all true, sorry nuns.

Christmas cards were a big deal in the 1960s, and they had to go out on time. To have them arrive after Christmas would be insulting to the receiver. Some of our relatives were in better financial positions than us. From them, we would receive cards with their names printed instead of handwritten. At the time I thought that this was the height of class; as a kid, I was easily dazzled.

We didn’t receive many Christmas newsletter, but my married sisters did. Generally, they were perceived as a tacky vehicle to brag. In fact, in those days there was a counter movement of letter writers who deliberately and humorously wrote newsletters that dramatized all of the bad things that happened to them in the previous year.

My wife, Julie is from Minnesota, and it is common practice with her family and friends to include a photocopied newsletter in their Christmas card. I enjoy reading these newsletters which chronicle everything from the births and deaths to the successes and failures of the sender’s family. I especially like the ones from Ag families that document the year’s crop yield, or the latest livestock venture. As a kid, I thought names printed on Christmas cards were good, and newsletters were bad. Now I feel the opposite. Maturity does these things.

In the 1990s I started to write a Christmas newsletter every December. In those days I was into desktop publishing, and these skills were the perfect foil for my holiday writing aspirations. Early on I decided on an “all inclusive” format that would include at least one photo, a written year in review, and a recipe. I have kept that format to this very day.

I bought my first laser printer for newsletter printing, and then my first color laser printer. To get the best photo I purchased my first digital camera in 1996. My Kodak DC-40 retailed for $1000, but I got it at the bargain price of $800. Incredibly primitive by today’s standards it took photos at a maximum resolution of 0.4 MP (less than one-half of a megapixel). Most new cameras have a resolution of 24 MP to 50 MP, which contains 60 to 125 times more image detail then my original camera, Despite the Kodak’s limitations it was the start of my obsession with digital cameras and digital photo editing. I find it interesting that the primary task of writing a Christmas newsletter could improve my both my desktop publishing skills and my technology skills as it also spawned my interest in digital photography. One little twist in your life can lead to many turns.

Over the last few years we have received fewer and fewer holiday cards, and it seems that the trend of sending them is becoming passe. Besides, Facebook has made the yearly update style of a Christmas newsletter somewhat obsolete. Based on these facts I have thought about stopping the practice of writing one. However, after some deliberation, I have decided to continue the tradition. However, I may deliver future copies in a more limited manner.

I have come to realize that I don’t write “Christmas Time” for others, I write it for my family. A copy of each year’s letter is saved in a special Christmas book that will be handed down at the appropriate time. The letters have chronicled our lives in pictures, words, and recipes. It gives me pleasure to think that grandkids, who may never know me, will read my words and make Julie’s recipes. I hope that these newsletter and other things that I’m creating will allow them to know me on a personal level, instead of just viewing a blurry photographic image of me.

I know that it is essential for me to be remembered by my family, and the best way that I can do this is by my writing and photography. Why is it important? I’m not sure, but I know that it is important, and that is enough reason to do it.

Happy holidays, and Merry Christmas dear readers.

My first digital camera, the Kodak DC 40. Purchased in 1996.

Writing this year’s Christmas newsletter.