The Annual Christmas Letter

We have family who live far, far away in a galaxy called Iowa. In what seems almost forever we have been receiving enclosed with their annual Christmas card (now photo page) a long letter, signed - Jon, Nancy and family - but written of course by my sister-in-law Nancy. We also have been receiving, for a long time but not forever, an annual Christmas letter from family that live a little closer in Chicago. That one is signed by Ed and Carol. In the earlier years I wasn't quite sure which one had been doing the writing but now the prose is definitely from my brother-in-law Ed.

Both letters came on the same day this year. I sat in my rocker/recliner, put on my reading glasses, and thoroughly enjoyed updates on the various family activities (Nancy's specialty) and far flung travel adventures (Ed could and maybe should write for the kind of magazine that has those beautiful color pictures of French cathedrals or Peruvian llamas).

This year after finishing the second letter a warm feeling tweaked my otherwise Christmas Grinch heart. After having read those letters for all of those years this had now become for me an enjoyable Christmas tradition. I'll admit it wasn't always so. One year I wrote a parody of a Christmas letter (would I do that?) telling exaggerated stories about one family disaster after another - “We are so proud of Carrie. She tried out for the volleyball team and although she got cut she wisely used the next three weeks alone in her room to reconsider her priorities.”

Ah, warm feelings. For the last couple of years that seems to have been the underlying theme of Ed and Carol's travels. For example, this year they went on a tour of “the Villages and the Vineyards of Eastern France” where there would always present itself a need to “sip a wee bit of wine”. Now I myself do not imbibe but wine is like a big deal on my side of the family. One of my cousins married into a family that owns a vineyard set among the redwood forests of Northern California. They are one of the pioneers of organic grown wines and you can check out their beautiful web site at www.freywines.com.

My brother Jim lived in Florence, Italy for a year and is the type of guy that while dining out will choose the year and vintage for the entire table. The wine guy will present the bottle to my brother, pour him a little, and then we all watch as Jim swirls the liquid around the glass while holding it up to the light, sniffs the contents, then takes a sip. He pulls his head back, eyes closed, and we are silent seeing that the wine must be really good because Jim is having himself a moment. Moment over Jim's eyes will pop open, a smile will cross his face and he will in true LaBarge style announce that fortunately it had been a very dry year when those grapes were grown and the wine master handled the crush expertly.

Social media has helped a lot in keeping up with far flung family. We now have access to a lot of cute pictures and precious stories and when we are fortunate enough to actually press the flesh we feel that we are already so much more up to date on what is happening and what that little nephew bugger really looks like. Maybe that has made me enjoy those letters even more.