On Christmas Cards

For eleven months out of twelve, my children could not care less about the mail.  Except for the month of December.  It's not the promise of gifts arriving via the USPS (seriously, who sends anything other than a letter or a bill via that broken down, shadow of its former self government institution?) that draws them to the mailbox.  It's Christmas cards from friends and family that grabs them like a moth to the flame.  Looking at the pictures and reading the letters has the strongest hold on them.  I'll admit it - I can't help but get in on it because you know we are hoping that we'll get a picture like Mr. Christmas Happy over there with a cheesy letter.  So far, nothing has even come close.

We're guilty of not sending a Christmas letter since 2007.  We've sent cards and photos but no letter.  I like a letter with a little more snark than sugar and sweetness so it's probably for the best that it's a photo card only from the Lyons.  My penchant for Christmas card snark has a long history, going back to 1985.

1985 - it was a kinder, gentler time.  Nancy, I mean, Ronald Reagan was leading the nation for a second term.  BYU football had been propelled to the Number One (1) spot in the nation, Steve Young was the Jimmer Fredette of his time, and a Peruvian harp playing BYU co-ed named Sharlene Wells had been named Miss America (this was right after the unfortunate incident with Miss America 1984 Vanessa Williams and you can guess why a BYU co-ed was a lock to win), and I was serving a mission for my Church in Miami, FL (way before supermodels and wealthy South Americans had declared said city cool - it was a coke-rattled train wreck then). 

Where's the harp?

As Christmas that year drew nigh, I felt compelled to send Christmas cards to friends and family back home.    As a missionary, there wasn't a lot of cash in the budget for cards so I had to make one.  You'd think as a missionary I'd have gone the route of some Christ-centered, religious-themed card.  You would be wrong.  There was something about the Peruvian harp playing, BYU co-ed Miss America that said, 'Put me on your card.'  And that is what I did.  Now sadly, I don't have the card (and by card, I mean 8 1/2 x 11 piece of paper folded into fourths and photocopied in a church library) anymore, so picture it.  On the front panel, Sharlene strumming that harp.  On the inside, the following quote from Sharlene, about life as Miss America (and I'm paraphrasing since I don't remember it exactly), "'Every day I have to get up, smile, and look great.' May this quote carry you through the year like it does me.  Merry Christmas, Elder Lyons"

It was simple and awesome and anyone who knew me that got the card understood the snark.  My parents, who were acquaintances of Miss Wells' parents, were mortified.  But here's the rest of the story:

Three months later, in March 1986, while living in Little Havana where we could set our watches to the Saturday night stabbings, I got an epic amount of mail one day.  That mail included a package from my mother, an unmarked package from Salt Lake City, and, wait for it, my 'Dear John' letter.  Said letter was opened first and while not entirely unexpected was a momentary bummer.  I don't recall what was in the package from my mom but I think it helped soothe the wound from the first letter.  But the bonus came in the unmarked package.  I opened it to find this literary opus enclosed:

That's right, the biography of the 'star' of my Christmas card.  On the inside of the front cover, I found a handwritten inscription:

"Dear Elder Lyons,
I must say, quite the Christmas card!  I pray for your continued success as a missionary.
Sharlene Wells"

Yep, she'd seen the card.  And to her credit, she got it and had the sense of humor to send the book.  I've had nothing but respect for her from that day forward.  Well played, Sharlene, well played.

It's hard to believe that it's been twenty six years since I sent that card.  It may be time to snark it up for next year.  I've got some time to plan.