THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Saturday, December 23, 1995 TAG: 9512230375
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Charlise Lyles
LENGTH: Medium: 74 lines
Got a nice Christmas card in the mail the other day from Cheryle Rodriguez, my good friend who lives in Richmond.
``With friendly wishes
for a merry Christmas
and a happy new year.''
From the cheery scene of a family dragging a Christmas tree through the snow slipped the latest family portrait: Cheryle, hubby Ron and handsome baby Brandon.
``Come February, we'll have another child to be proud of,'' wrote Cheryle. ``We're very excited and looking forward to her arrival.'' Her was underlined.
``Huh?'' I gasped. I didn't even know she was expecting.
The odd truth is that Cheryle really is my good friend. But I haven't seen her in three years. Haven't talked to her on the telephone in two. Still, years ago, some experience - neither of us probably remember what - bonded us eternally.
Thus, we will forever exchange Christmas cards.
Cheryle's card arrived later than usual. In fact, each year, all my cards - about 25 or so - seem to get to my mailbox later and later. This year they were particularly tardy as the 14th, 15th and 16th of December came and went with no cards.
My heart ached just a little. For the cards are not merely a holiday greeting. Over the years, a mailbox full of red, green and white envelopes pasted with stamps of wreaths and Santa Clauses has come to mean much more.
They are annual missives updating me on the lives of people whom I love. Yet, life's demands does not allow us to even talk on a regular basis. E-mail or no e-mail.
Silently, we've acknowledged our inadequacies in the face of real time and no time. And by unspoken agreement, we write only once a year.
Some cards are from strangers whom I've met in strange places, but it seemed only right to exchange addresses.
People like Molly, the gambling grandmother from small-town Pennsylvania. I met her at the slot machines in Atlantic City.
``Peace on Earth. Good Will Toward Men.''
Oh, to hear from Molly. Indeed, the words of Leroy Jones' poem are true: ``The world is full of remarkable things.''
``May the joys of the season be yours.''
That message arrived Monday from Dana Wise Grey in Atlanta.
Dana lived down the hall from me at Ziskind House in college 15 years ago. Professors raved about her Shakespeare papers. In her room, she chanted the Lotus Sutra.
This year, Dana's card included a portrait of five smiling school-age children and - miraculously, a grinning father.
Tuesday's mailbox held a card from Jamie Button, my Australian friend from Melbourne.
``Season's Greetings.''
``May and I are expecting,'' Jamie wrote. ``We're very excited and looking forward to parenthood.'' He hasn't finished his novel yet, but is returning to work soon.
Jamie is a magazine correspondent for Time of Australia. We had hoped to meet four years ago when I planned to go Down Under. My plans fell through. But Jamie has written loyally, once or twice a year, and always, always at Christmas.
His card, a colorful watercolor of a partridge in a pear tree, included the new address where he and May will move once the baby comes.
Looking at that address, I knew that, even though Jamie and I might not ever meet, we will probably write once or twice a year for the rest of our lives, and always, always at Christmas.
And, if I don't hear from him, I will wonder if everything is OK. by CNB