Christmas 2000-something

Twelve years ago I wrote what would now be considered a blog post, but then it was just playing around on the computer pretending that someone would care what I had to say!

The depth of my writing would fill a kiddie pool, and there was very little perspective outside of my own world.

That said, it was fun to look back and see what my thoughts were then.

I thought I'd share them today. (Unlike most posts, NO NAMES were changed!)

Christmas Cards and Status Updates

by Jeanni Thrasher

            I did a little better this year. My Christmas cards arrived at their destinations by Christmas Eve. Last year, my Christmas greetings included the line “Happy Easter” with my signature.

            While the new year is a time for looking forward, Christmas is usually a time for reflection. Family and friends send cards with photos and letters detailing highlights of their year. Of course, no-one ever writes about their son’s failing grades or the plumbing bill that required a second mortgage, but even non-politicians have the innate ability to become spin masters at Christmastime.

            So as I’m reading these newsy updates, I realize how young most of my friends are. We may have been born around the same time, but these people have not aged at the same rate. There’s no evidence of bad knees, sore backs, or memory loss. They are tanned, toned, and joined by adorable little offspring in matching outfits with perfect coifs.  I, on the other hand, am in the running for the female doppelganger of the Pillsbury Dough Boy and on most days, my children appear as if they have just rolled out of bed.

            However, I do enjoy reading these letters, even if they do have suspiciously fictitious undertones. It is a way to reconnect, and to reminisce of days gone by. I remember Christmas 1984 when Beth, Jennifer, and I piled into my mom’s old Bonneville and cruised the local strip for hours. And Christmas 1997 when Melissa and I had the misguided notion that it would be fun to take our combined eight children to a Christmas parade in 37-degree weather.

            Now I’ve found a way to reconnect year-round. During a reunion with my childhood best friend Margaret, after a thirty-year absence, in Tyler, Texas last summer, our conversation turned to former friends and acquaintances. Margaret had updates on dozens of them.

            “How do you know all this?” I wondered aloud. I mean, she knew DETAILS. Where they worked, how old their kids were, what they had for dinner last night. This does NOT happen by sending out belated Christmas cards.

            “Facebook,” she chirped.

            WHAT?!!! This was my law-abiding, rule-following, keep-it-between-the-lines friend. On Facebook? Isn’t that a breeding ground for internet predators?

            I must have wondered that aloud too because she began defending the site with the same ardent defense my teenagers had once unsuccessfully presented to me. But this time, out of courtesy, I listened.

            “No-one can access your page unless you accept them.” Wow, it’s like junior high again. You have to be accepted…She wasn’t exactly winning me over.

            “It’s safe. It’s a lot of fun. It’s a great way to reconnect with people you went to school with.” Now I was a little intrigued. There were people I wondered about. Of course, there were also some that I never wanted to see again, but she assured me that I could “ignore” them.

            Still a little skeptical, we parted with me promising to look into it. So when I got home, I decided to visit the infamous Facebook. I created a profile. I searched for childhood friends, classmates, and relatives. I requested friends, and confirmed friend requests. I viewed friends’ pages. Was everyone really that thin? I dug through the desk drawer to find that Kodak disc that contained pictures from the decade when I could still wear a bikini and uploaded a new profile picture. I laugh when former classmates say I haven’t changed a bit. Thank goodness it’s not a webcam!

            I must admit I was hooked. I spent hours that first week clicking away. I was struck with the odd realization that Facebook was like that old Health talk you got each year. If you “click” on someone, it’s like “clicking” on everyone they’re friends with, and then “clicking” on THEIR friends, and so on… What a network!

            You give status updates. What are you doing now? What are you doing NOW? Well, I wasn’t cooking. I wasn’t cleaning. I wasn’t thirteen either with only the responsibility of making my bed. So I logged off. I do still check my Facebook page every few days and am delighted each time an old friend has signed up and wants to reconnect. It’s like receiving Christmas cards all year long!