In days of yore before Pretty introduced me to her antique empire vernacular, I couldn’t distinguish vintage from antique from retro to mid-century modern. Provenance was a self-discovery word from watching countless episodes of Antiques Roadshows with her on Monday nights after I gave up on the NFL when Plan B free agency ruined the game for me. TMI.
My mother loved her Christmas cantatas at the church, decorating for the holidays, wrapping gifts, baking her homemade fudge, divinity and specialty Osgood pies – baking was her therapy during the two weeks away from her second grade classrooms once she could relax from the stress of the musical performance. My mother often told me “practice makes perfect” when she sat for hours at her piano working on a particularly difficult section of a piece. She was pursued by her passion for perfection.
But her signature holiday delights were the Christmas cards our family received every year from friends and family members who were separated from us by distances in a world before Instagram, Facebook, Linked In and X. The address book Pretty and I found when we closed her house in 2007 was in tatters from decades of use – addresses scratched out, crammed with new ones on the same line. She never let go of her Christmas card list.
My dad, on the other hand, barely glanced at the cards when they came in with the exception of the Christmas card letters which he felt were far superior to cards sent and received. I can hear Daddy saying to my mother, Jimmy and Maggie Jones have the right idea – they always take the time to write a letter even though they are as busy as we are. (Remember my dad loved to write letters.)
In December, 1964 my thirty-seven year old mother must have been particularly wigged and frustrated by her inability to “get everything done” including her holiday cards mailed on time so she and my thirty-nine year old father agreed to jointly construct their first and, as far as I know, only mid-century antique family Christmas letter. Daddy had a secretary at his new position as Assistant Superintendent of Instruction at Lamar Consolidated in Rosenberg, Texas – clearly he enlisted her to set up and type the letter to save time for Mama’s mailings. I know this because my name is misspelled in every block.
Ho, ho, ho – that was just the provenance. Here’s the letter. Enjoy.
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Unbelievably it is Christmas again. Pretty and I enjoy this season greatly because it’s a special time of sharing. We know of no one we’d rather share our happy highlights with than you all year long right here in cyberspace. Our wish to you is, of course, for a Merry Christmas, but more than that, we pray that God will bless your lives richly in the coming year.
I'll Call It Like I See It 
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