Well, here we go!

"Words, which are the dress of thoughts, deserve surely more care than clothes, which are only the dress of the person."

Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield

Christmas is over and, once again, I failed to send out a single greeting. My friends are either used to it by now, or assume Palm Beach has formally converted me to Yenta status (spoiler alert: I'm still Presbyterian).

I wish I had found the time to address and personalize every card for every friend. Receiving them makes me so happy, I'd like to be able to return the favor. You see, I think formal Christmas cards are one of those traditions that make you feel like your world has a rock solid foundation.

Never mind the vagina hats on TV.

Christmas cards put peace and tradition right there in your own mailbox. Opening that door, finding that foil-lined envelope, and reading its pre-printed greeting on the beautiful enclosed card comforts me with its continuity, reassures and encourages me. It makes me believe - even just for a minute - that the whole of society has not gone stark raving barmy and we really aren't irrevocably doomed.

Sort of like Sears. I find a sense of calm come over me whenever I pass a Sears. It's been around forever and I can't figure out why they struggle so - Sears started life as a catalog company where you could order a house; if anyone should be able to adapt to the cloud economy, you would think it would be Sears. I love browsing the different departments, smelling the sweet aroma of rubber from the Uniroyal Tiger Paws. It mixes so well with the "Charlie" at the perfume counter. And how could you not feel hopeful when you can buy a Die Hard battery with 790 cold cranking amps, walk ten feet and find a sales lady hawking a 14kt ring with .004 total carat weight and $20.10 cashback in points? You know its quality jewelry when the store has carts at the entrance...

All kidding aside, I shall miss Sears when it's gone. I imagine it won't go out with a thunder clap or any drama - it will probably just roll over like a drunken dinosaur, its remains picked by over-fed scavengers in sweat pants. Such an ignominious end... Cross off another vestige of the America I'd love to experience again.