Sound familiar? I gave it my best shot, then I ran out of time. As I’ve said before, there’s too much to do, too many awesome distractions here on the Vineyard!
They were pretty cards. (I hope I don’t get sued for showing a photo of one here.) I used a red, fine-tip Sharpie and penned a brief, but hopefully meaningful message on each. With one eye on the clock so the cards would make the Postal Boat today (if there is one), I slipped them into envelopes and quickly added the addresses of the “lucky six.” I included my return address because I haven’t been here long enough for those nice people from I-have-no-idea-where to send me cute, imprinted labels.
Heading toward the post office, I drove along the beach road and waved “Hello!” to not one, but two, police officers who sat in their cruisers, about 100 yards apart, hugging the dunes in wait. They didn’t get me this time; I was in the happy spirit of the holidays, engaged in Christmas Present, pleased-as-punch to be on my way to send half-a-dozen good wishes for the first time in too many years. It was a small act, but I was proud.
After I passed Bend-in-the-Road Beach (I love that name), my gaze dropped to the cards that were neatly stacked(?) on the passenger seat beside me. That’s when I realized I had stamped the envelopes not with decked-out Charlie Brown and Snoopy, not with a lovely Nativity Scene, not with festive Christmas ornaments, but with . . . Elvis.
Okay, so maybe a black and white photo of the King of Rock ‘n Roll is not exactly appropriate. If only it had a slight blue cast it might have been acceptable. (Remember that mournful song?) But there I was, my stack of look-at-me-I-actually-sent-out-Christmas-cards-this-year peering up at me not with the reverence of the season but with smoky eyes and a curled lip. Hmm.
I decided to get over myself. I made it to the post office, dropped the loot into the slot, wished a few folks Merry Christmas, and headed home.
To any of my friends or family who did not receive a card, please know you are absolutely in queue for next year’s mailing. Until then, I am sorry, but Elvis has left the island.