Lord, I got a card from my high school buddy. I'd never waited to open holiday cards the way I waited to tear into brightly wrapped presents under the Christmas tree. There are two kinds of people. There are those of us who tear at the wrapping like leopards, shredding foil, tissue and bows to get to the prize. Others of us gently separate the paper from the gift, intending to keep both equally sacred at least for a while.
Cards are the same way.
Some of us tear up the envelope because we can't wait to see what surprise is inside. Others gently open the card, saving the address and treasuring the words whether they were written by Helen Steiner Rice, who used to be my grandmother's favorite, or a poetically challenged friend. I already decided that this was the Christmas I would slow down and smell the poinsettias. It has been easy. I've delayed packing up decorations.