The Best Christmas Package In The History Of The Universe

On Friday morning I received The Best Christmas Package In The History Of The Universe. Seriously. It was chock full of love and presents and letters and happiness and Christmas cheer. There were a lot of wrapped items that I still haven’t opened, but some things that I have opened are: a package of Sour Patch Kids, some pictures of my mom and grandma and brother, and Season Two of that TV show, House. That was from my brother Tim. Last year our whole team watched Season One and sort of got addicted, and we were pretty excited about this new round of episodes- even the new team members!

Anyway, thanks Tim!

Also included were some letters. The one from my mom was loving and descriptive and had a story that made me laugh. My sister’s was just a random short anecdote, and it was pretty funny, but a bit vulgar. The one from my brother Tobin was probably one of the most amazing letters I’ve ever gotten. There were a few personally meaningful relics enclosed, along with some illustrations. It was philosophical, mundane, wacky, bizarre, and brilliant. Probably because we are products of the same gene pool, the madness made sense to me. I was reminded of who I am, and what I care about. In their own way, the hand-scribbled lines of all three notes made me feel known and loved in a rare way that I haven’t felt for a while.

A few excerpts:
“My mood makes me believe I could drink the Pacific, punch a star, and run on the clouds of the American man’s heart… You don’t understand? Neither do I…”

“Perhaps I will quit school and chill in the monastery with you. We can write there. And there is no telling what mysterious treasures would be drawn onto pages in those old damp rooms. Hundreds of years of spiritual crazy men egging us on – letting us pull out our souls to transcribe for the masses! [Where all that came from? Don’t know]…”
~This section was accompanied by an illustration of me writing, with a bulge labeled ‘hump’ (so as not to be mistaken for poor artistry) on my back, at a table specified as being 500 years old, with wild hair (“perfect locks- compliments of months of flaxseed oil!”) and a ‘clubbed ballet foot’- again, labeled.

“He has the ability (perhaps it comes with age, a lot of it) to transcend the madness and smile cockeyed at absolutely nothing. Nothing but wrinkled sun spotted Beauty.”

“I didn't capitalize that last sentence. My God that is freeing. I just brought down all of Language Education with a single letter…”

“I wish I had something more enduring or endearing to write…but nothing but tired fills my head.”

“I love you and miss the sh-- out of you... Alexis, you are an offspring of the Mind’s Eye – rare you are. Send my regards to the Team and remember your prison = my heart. (meaning you’ll never leave my heart)”