Los Gatos Weekly-Times

Living the Hallmark card life

By Dale Bryant

The Hallmark Hall of Fame has always been one of my favorite television shows. Over the years, these dramatic presentations have represented television at its finest.

Lately, though, the shows have been overshadowed by the three-hanky Hallmark card commercials. Last week's "Harvest of Fire," the tale of a friendship that develops between a very modern woman and an Amish widow, couldn't hold a candle to the couple that had struggled for years trying to adopt a baby. When the husband tells his wife they have to go to yet another meeting, it's clear that this is the last straw for her. All those forms they filled out. Endless meetings. False hopes. And for what? Years of waiting, and still nothing.

When the husband hands his wife a Hallmark card whose greeting says: "To a Special Mother," and she realizes that this is the meeting, well, I can tell you, there wasn't a dry eye at my house.

Then there was the 100-year-old lady who was being escorted to a surprise birthday party while family and friends raced to get her Hallmark card signed. And the 12-year-old boys gathered at a library table who learned that the best way to invite a girl to the dance was to slip a Hallmark card in her notebook.

The drama, the gentle humor, the sensitive camera angles, the astute direction were magnificent. The entire experience made me wish I was a card person.

I've been a little sensitive lately to the subject of cards--greetings, thank-you's and otherwise--ever since I found out my in-laws have been talking about me behind my back. And all because I neglected to send a card to my husband's aunt to tell her how nice it was of her to feed us when we went to visit during the Christmas holidays--two years ago.

It's not as if I didn't thank her at the time. I thanked her profusely. My reasoning is that hugs and kisses and sincere thanks in person are much more meaningful than a form letter--Thanks so much for all your work. It was a delicious meal and the centerpiece was so lovely--on my personal stationery. These are called "bread-and-butter" letters, little social obligations that people in my generation learned about from our mothers.

With this breach of social etiquette, I have brought shame on my family by calling into question my upbringing.

I don't know what happened to me. It's not as if I didn't have wonderful role models in my own family. My mother used to nag my brother and me to write thank-you notes whenever we received gifts from distant relatives. To this day, I hear about it if my niece and nephew forget to send her a thank-you note when she's sent them gifts.

For nearly 40 years, my great-aunt sent me a greeting card every year for Christmas and Thanksgiving and Easter and Halloween and my birthday and, sometimes, St. Patrick's Day. I loved getting her cards. And you would think that her example would have been a model for me, but then, she was a card person and I'm not.

Aunt Esther sent cards to friends, family and acquaintances for every occasion. She had a huge inventory of every type of card imaginable. She could dispatch cards for graduations, births, deaths, birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, weddings and engagements without ever leaving her house.

If some little twinge of conscience motivates me to send a card, I have to plan a trip to a card shop. Then I have to plan a trip to the post office to buy a stamp. I don't know why. This is just the way my life is. I don't even own any personal stationery on which I could whip out a dutiful little bread-and-butter letter, although for many years I seriously considered filling out the order form for personal stationery that came every month with my Macy's bill. I never did, though.

My insurance man sends me a card every year for my birthday, and he sends one to my husband and me on our anniversary. He also has an inventory of cards, but unlike my aunt's great variety, his all say, "Congratulations!" He's been sending me the same card twice a year for more than 20 years.

The problem with those little bread-and-butter letters is that, just like my insurance man's greeting cards, they reek of duty and obligation.

They're form letters; in my book, they're in the same category as junk mail.

When I was a child, I used to watch in horror as my mother tossed unopened mail in the trash. This, however, is one family tradition I have grown to embrace.

I know cards and letters are very important to some people. My mother-in-law, like my great-aunt, has an inventory of cards, and when she sends them, she usually seals them with stickers of cute animals. Many of her cards say: "Thinking of You."

One year for Christmas, my husband gave me a box of blank notecards with a Diego Rivera drawing on the outside. For a while, I found a way to tie in my personal message to the drawing of dancing people on the card, although I still struggled with the problem of finding a stamp. Then I discovered I was sending my Diego Rivera fiesta cards to the same people for different occasions.

In my defense, I do call to thank people who send me a gift. I figure they deserve to know not only that I appreciated it, but that it arrived.

But those Hallmark Hall of Fame commercials have just about got me convinced to mend my ways. I could use a little drama and gentle humor in my life. And who wouldn't want to inspire the meaningful glances that the right card can elicit? I could become a card person. I'm sure I could.

Dale Bryant is editor of the Los Gatos Weekly-Times.