Christine Bader: Personalized holiday cards kindle cherished connections

About the writer: Christine Bader coaches the Valley Panthers Girls Rugby Club, teaches in Linfield’s master of science in business program, and recently joined the McMinnville School Board — all facts that have appeared in her holiday cards.

Growing up in the 1970s and ’80s, my family would visit our local bookstore every January and pick up boxes of deeply discounted holiday cards. In December, we’d dig them out of the back of the closet, write notes inside them to friends and family, address the envelopes, lick the stamps, and deposit them in our corner mailbox.

We’d receive many handwritten cards in return. The writers would ask about my or my sister’s latest activities, fondly recall the last time we got together, and sometimes express excitement about the next time we might see each other, even naming the specific occasion — summer, Thanksgiving, etc.

Like so many rituals of childhood, those cards seemed like a burdensome formality at the time. But now I miss them.

Holiday cards have become just another automated process, like auto-paying our bills. They’re now little more than a fiber-based social media post — a carefully curated photo collage for a singular audience, with nary a drop of ink or personalized thought in sight.

This is a shame. This year, more than ever, as a bruising election season forced us into tribes, our one-on-one relationships cry out for nurturing. And there are few better ways to do that than handwriting a note.

The cognitive advantages of handwriting over typing are well-known, as are the psychological benefits of tending to our relationships. Even without the scientific data, we know the joy of receiving an actual piece of snail mail.

I have succumbed to pre-printed photos and text for my holiday cards. But I stubbornly cling to my fine-point Sharpies for signing and addressing them — and force my family to sign them, too.

To be sure, it’s a pain to sign 200 cards, and it costs more than a Facebook post. My handwriting isn’t great, either, another casualty of our computerized age. Almost every card seems to arrive at its destination, though.

Despite my best efforts at keeping notes in my Excel spreadsheet, I occasionally send two to the same family. But I will gladly pay the cost of these human errors for the return of recognizing each and every one of my relationships.

Handwriting everyone’s addresses, I notice more about their lives. I marvel at those who’ve been at the same address for decades, because I have not.

For my more transient friends, I reach out by text or e-mail to ask where they are these days. That often leads to an even more satisfying reconnection.

I love when my kids ask whose cards they’re signing. I get to share stories from high school, from college and graduate school, and from the various places I’ve lived around the world.

This hopefully opens their eyes to the fact that despite the social challenges of middle school and the occasional insularity of small-town life, they too have many friendships and adventures in their future.

Thank you, friends, for all of your holiday cards this year. I enjoy seeing your kids grow taller than you, and I love your vacation snaps. But even just a handwritten signature goes a long way for both of us.

At least we no longer have to lick the stamps.