Among the treats this time of year are the annual updates from family and friends about their travels and achievements at work and school; about how the kids --and pets--are doing. Especially their cats.
Most holiday letters report how great or how miserable the writers have been. As we get older, we are blessed with the details of health crises and ailments. If our correspondents are capable of restraining themselves, they avoid what we call “politics.” Thank you very much.
Every once in a while, though, one can find a real gem. Here’s one I received from novelist Tim Sturm, a graduate of Beloit College, by the way.
“Overall,” he wrote, “2023 has been like so many others in our lucky lives, a year filled with friendship, of taking and giving emotional support, and sadly, of saying good-bye to a few dear friends. As we contemplate their absence, we are reminded that each individual has a life story that only he or she has witnessed in its entirety. Everyone else arrived late, left at an intermission, or moved back and forth between the front row and cheap seats. Consequently there exist six or seven versions of who we are: those who know version two might not fully recognize version seven.
We can only hope that whichever version others know, we will be remembered with kindness and forgiveness, for our friendship and good intentions. Our hope for 2024 is that many, many more of our neighbors on this Earth will glory in the simple pleasure of breathing free.”
With affection, that’s my perspective, too. I’m Rick Brooks. Thanks, Tim
