[As many Readers know, it is a Christmas Tradition for Your Humble Narrator to Compose a prototypical Christmas Form Letter for the purpose of Enclosure in a Festive Christmas Card sent to Assorted Individuals. This Season such Festive Cards were Not sent for (presumably) Obvious Reasons. The Long Suffering Wife of Your Humble Narrator did request a Form Letter be Composed nonetheless, which was to be e-mailed to One and All. Your Humble Narrator Obliged the Long Suffering Wife--not an easy task since the Hartley Household was Traveling during the Middle of the Month. But, nonetheless a Letter was composed on December 23. Sadly, The Long Suffering Wife read said Letter and Pronounced it "a Sub-par Effort" and exhorted Your Humble Narrator to Work Harder at the Task. As Christmas Eve was upon Your Humble Narrator a Scant few hours later, said Renewed Efforts did not Occur. Your Humble Narrator is Filled With Shame. It is of Note, however, that Precisely zero Persons wrote the Hartley Household inquiring about the Absence of the Annual Christmas Letter, which, Truth Be Told, comes as no surprise to Your Humble Narrator.
But wait, There is More.
The original, Manifestly Inferior Product is Reproduced Below for the Reading Pleasure of Your Humble Narrator.]
Pity Your Humble Narrator. [Insert collective sigh: “Poor, poor Humble Narrator.”] Once again, the Yuletide Season has approached Your Humble Narrator, whispering in kind admonitions that the Time Has Come in Which Your Humble Narrator generally composes a tremendously verbose letter which despite its extensive use of multisyllabic words and subclauses within subclauses never quite seems to alter the sad fact that for yet another year there were no events worthy of being related to the Patient Readers who toil year after year to decipher the prose only to discover that it was, in fact, not worth the bother to have done so. The fact that the Patient Readers continue to parse the aforementioned sentences at all is surely an example of the Triumph of Hope (ever present at this most Blessed Time of Year) over Experience (which, truth be told, is a thing of which seventeen of the aforementioned Patient Readers have had an extraordinarily large amount), leaving Your Humble Narrator in the most wretched state of having an insoluble quandary: when the Patient Reader who once again wades into the Slough of Despond after realizing that the efforts to read said Letter were not, after all, worthy of the Time Spent, is it the fault of Your Humble Narrator, who continues to mask a lack of Thought and Anecdote with an (admittedly quite) impressive array of commas, or the Patient Reader, who after all should know better by this point? Sadly, the answer is plain: Mea Maxima Culpa.
But as was mentioned at the outside of the previous paragraph (and Your Humble Narrator hastens to add that he is not unaware that there was no cause for a paragraph break at this point since the Matter (such as it is) under discussion has not changed one whit, but Your Humble Narrator opted for Aesthetic appeal (having paragraph breaks makes this letter appear to be letter-like for those Impatient Readers for whom Experience Triumphed over Hope) rather than Grammatical Niceties (which Your Humble Narrator hastens to add is not a Thing to be Lightly subordinated even to such important matters as Aesthetic appeal and thus the present usurpation of the latter should be interpreted solely as a matter arising from Pressing Need rather than a Denigration of Grammar)—but Your Humble Narrator Digresses, and so, to begin anew: As was mentioned at the outset of the Previous paragraph: Pity Your Humble Narrator. While in Normal Years, Your Humble Narrator is tasked by the Christmas Sprit to Compose a Letter on the aforementioned lines, this year Your Humble Narrator labors (or as they misspell it in these parts of the world, labours) under the added burden that the Exploits of the Hartley Household have been semi-regularly posted for the last five months on a web site of no particular renown (hartleykolkata.blogspot.com for the insatiably curious) and thus any Persons (or, One supposes Non-persons) who have had any Occasion to Wonder what was Occupying the Time of Said Household have had the ability (due to the marvels of Modern Technology) to Instantly Satisfy Said Curiosity and Discover that the Hartley Household is Still Not Doing Anything Particularly Worthy of Notice. [Many Readers will Object that Surely Spending Six Months in India is Worthy of Notice, but Your Humble Narrator is Aware that the Uttering of Such Protestations is Mandated By Social Mores: After all, there are over a Billion people Currently Residing in India, and if the Patient Readers were Truly Concerned with Life In India, then they would Surely be also Daily Perusing the Blogs of the other 999,999,995+ people who are sharing this Spot of the Globe With the Hartley Household. QED.] And thus, Not only Must Your Humble Narrator Compose a Letter Without Substance of Interest to the Reader, but Must do so with the foreknowledge that an Attempt to Lull the Reader into a False Sense that Perhaps this Year’s Letter will have substance is Doomed to Failure.
Tradition Mandates that This Paragraph in the Annual Christmas Letter announces the New Arrivals in the Hartley Household. Sigh. Readers are already aware that there are no new arrivals. Your Humble Narrator Mourns at the Loss of this Ever-Popular paragraph.
The Offspring Report will be presented in its Entirety However.
Beginning for obvious Reason with Lily (who has reached the odd age of 11), Your Humble Narrator is pleased to note that this particular offspring has not ceased to Amaze one and all with her virtuoso command of the English Language. Styling herself Your Humble Narrator, Jr. (a clear case of trademark infringement, but one which Your Humble Narrator has decided to delay prosecuting until once again residing in the Land of Large Scale Legal Damages for the pain and suffering caused by such Egregious infringements on Trademark), Lily has continued to astound Readers of the aforementioned blog with her ability to speak endlessly and say very little. Sadly, she still has some substance in her blog posts, but Your Humble Narrator is Confident that with Proper training her Word to Content Ratio can be increased. Lily’s ability to speak endlessly without saying much does not amaze anyone who resides with her, but said fellow residents are pleased to know that the Rest of the World can now understand what it must be Like to Live With Such a Person. Lily was Not asked if she had a Christmas message for one and all due to limitations of space.
Clara (whose age is a similarly odd 7) is maturing into the cutest and most brilliant second-grader since Lily was that age. Clara is a princess trapped in an American body, and since America has no Royalty, is likely to be forever trapped. Capturing the Charming Nature of the Antics of Young Clara is about as difficult as giving a hippo a bath in mayonnaise, and both the latter and the former are sadly (in the cast of the former) beyond the capabilities of Your Humble Narrator. When asked what she would like to relate to You, she replied, “Daddy! I don’t know. Stop bothering me with your pathetic attempts to improve your so-called letter with cute anecdotes about me. I am getting far too old for Nonsense of this sort.”
Emma (who has reached the odd age of 13)…hmm, for thirteen years Your Humble Narrator has been attempting to make it seem that Emma has somehow exhibited a behavior which is different from that which was exhibited in the previous year. After 11 failed attempts, Your Humble Narrator acknowledges defeat. Emma is the same this year as she was last year and the year before that and the year before that and the year before that and, well, You (being the Bright Discerning Type) get the Idea. Were Emma asked if she had a message for this letter, she would have simply grunted, and as Your Humble Narrator has heard said Grunts on Many Occasions, the Pleasure of Hearing Dear Emma emit Animal-Like noises was foregone in order to speed our Passage to the next paragraph, which is always Your Humble Narrator’s Favorite Paragraph to Compose.
The Long Suffering Wife of Your Humble Narrator has, as always, done an unbelievably good job molding the character of the Offspring, prohibiting Your Humble Narrator for committing too many egregious faux pas, turning a furnished flat in the Distant Land of India into a Real Home for the Hartleys, and maintaining her Sanity throughout. The Long Suffering Wife is truly a marvel and a model of Personhood.
And on that note, we, the Hartley Household, would like to bid you, The Reader, a Very Merry Christmas.