Here it is, Christmas. Once again, my intention to include a letter in my cards remained only that—intention. As a writer, I should be able to construct a missive that would make us sound interesting, but I'm not that talented.
     I'd like to be more like my cousin, Maureen. She never fails to fill a page with family news. I haven't seen her since we were young, but from the pictures she sends and the way she writes, she's just like I remember: a nice girl with a terrific smile. Sincere, honest, with never a bragging word. Lots of fun.
     She's not really my cousin. More like a cousin once or twice removed. Maybe we're second cousins. (I can never remember how to figure that out.) The oldest of 12 children, she grew up in Plainview, Minnesota. In the summer our family would make the long drive to spend a Sunday afternoon at Maureen's grandparents' farm. My dad's Aunt Catherine and Uncle Louis. While the men visited and the women fixed supper, we children ran wild. Our country cousins taught us city kids a thing or two about farm animals and playing in the barn. Most often, our cousins from Saint Paul were there, too. Gosh, we had fun!
     The day ended with a meal out back at picnic tables. There was so much talking and laughing, it's a wonder anyone got food in their mouth. But we always cleaned our plates and went back for more. No one could go home before Dad took a picture of everyone on the back steps of the farmhouse. He'd set up his tripod, position us on the stairs, set the timer, and run to his place next to Mom. He had just enough time to holler out, "Say, cheese!"
     Maureen, who is my age, spent some time at our house in Minneapolis when we were about twelve. After that, we lost contact. I'm not sure if it was because my parents got divorced or because my sister tweezed Maureen's eyebrows to movie star thinness and taught her to use eye makeup. Our fathers always stayed in touch, though, and Maureen and I reconnected after they passed away. She lives in Montana now. Every Christmas she sends me pictures of her family. And her letter.
     The letter that makes me wish I had been more organized and found time to write one myself. What would I say? That our life is simple, but that's the way we like it? That there's no money tree in our back yard, but we have all we need? I could add we feel blessed to have friends and family we care about. Who care about us. That our home is comfortable, our neighborhood safe, our dog loyal.
     My letter would have to include a wish for peace on earth. Goodwill to all. Hope for a day when people wouldn't question whether gender or the color of a person's skin would keep them from being elected President of our United States.
     I could write we plan to retire soon and travel, but that's not true. We enjoy our work. And there is nowhere we'd rather be. I'd like to see Maureen, though. Whether we're second cousins or cousins twice removed doesn't matter. I'd wrap my arms around her in a big hug and thank her for her faithful connection every Christmas.
     She'd pooh-pooh it, but Maureen is the real writer in the family.