|
|
Dear Friends and Relations of the Halff Family:
Greetings once again from the Halff Family Historian. After years of yearning for a really Impersonal Christmas Form Letter, the kind where everyone is mentioned in the third person, the Halffs have taken the sensible step of engaging a professional.
The occupation of Family Historian is not without its trials. Particularly burdensome in the Halff’s case is the obligation to objectively report the unremarkable history of this mundane family, knowing full well that you, dear readers, would be much more interested in my own adventures during the period. Nor does it help matters that the members of this family have no compunctions in prevailing upon me to depart from my usual high standards of historical accuracy.
"And this year, don’t make me [Larry] seem like a flake."
"It would really be nice if you could devote more space to me [Nancy] than to Dianne [Galloway, Nancy’s business partner]."
"Don’t forget to tell them about my [Henry’s] key role in the Clinton campaign, my Nobel Prize, and that I won every race that I entered this year."
Needless to say, these pleas fall on deaf ears. Rest assured that this letter reports, in the most objective terms, the true story of the Halffs during the past year (although I have made every attempt to avoid mention of Dianne Galloway).
We begin with Larry, who, you may recall, had been persuaded to spend most of the last four years at Earlham College in the charming rural community of Richmond, Indiana. Early this year, the administration of the college was faced with the decision of graduating or not graduating Larry, and not wanting to press their luck for another year, or even another semester, wisely decided on the former course of action. Also, in an attempt to mollify the rather boisterous and unruly clan that gathered to witness the event, this same administration decided to graduate Larry with honors. Since the town and college still stand, I can only assume that the tactic worked.
Since graduation, Larry has toured the West (leaving it largely intact) and settled down in Vancouver with one Michael Wayman, whose patience and tolerance in this arrangement strike the author as being of considerable significance.
Larry has inveigled his way into the academic circle of a Professor Ricki Goldman Segall at the University of British Columbia. Professor Goldman Segall, as it turns out, is interested in computer tools for ethnographic investigation, a focused area, to be sure, but one of the few that fit well with a degree in Anthropology and a fair amount of time wasted in tinkering with computers. Larry is now settling in on the four or five year road to a Ph.D. His parents eagerly await the day that the Canadian government will assume their role in loco parentis (financially speaking, of course).
Nancy and Whatserface's new business, Whatserface Halff, continues to grow. Whatserface herself wisely decided to move down here from New Canaan to keep an eye on her share of the business. Whatserface Halff moved into a real office in November, and became Whatserface Halff, Incorporated, a sure sign of success (so say all the Halffs, and Whatserface too). The new office is conveniently located near the Arlington County Courthouse and Jail, and it features an inspirational view of the National Cathedral just across the river.
Although airline stocks plummeted when Whatserface moved to Arlington, the firm surprised analysts by actually increasing flight miles logged by the partners. One of the unintended consequences of their heavy travel schedule was the appearance, on the Halff doorstep, of an overweight fuzzy creature, formerly of New Canaan, Conn., who goes by the name of Cady and whose only redeeming feature is her repertoire of four tricks. What began as an occasional visit of this beast to the Halff household has turned into virtually permanent residence, while Nancy and her owner ponder on the problem of providing her (the beast, that is) with human companionship throughout the day.
This brings me to the subject of Henry, who, with the coming of Cady and her need for human company, may at last have found something useful to do with himself. Since the animal, however does nothing but lie around all day, Henry has found it necessary to continue his pretense at gainful employment. Fortunately, he is able to satisfy this requirement through continued work (if one can call it that) on a computer game that purports to teach certain elementary aspects of electricity and electronics.
As I am sure you are all aware, the planet, this November,
celebrated the civilization’s survival of fifty years of Henry
Halff—no mean feat, say all of the Halffs. The anniversary,
although too late to rescue the Bush campaign, was commemorated by a
gala theatrical event in San Diego, produced by Henry’s brother,
Bro, with a cast of thousands of slaves enthusiastic
players. Bro’s only hope for the production was that it satisfy
his brother’s fondness for San Diego enough to keep him away for
at least a few months. In the author’s opinion, Bro faces almost
certain disappointment since Henry’s simple-minded fascination
with pelicans and his taste for squid sandwiches will continue to
bring him back to San Diego with distressing frequency.
The Halffs are staying home this Christmas, so this historian is taking refuge from them in Bomumble bay. From there he invites you all to light candles, give gifts, sing, dance, pray, and keep the spirit of the season going as long as you can.
How will you your Christmas keep?
Feasting, fasting, or asleep?
Will you laugh or will you pray,
Or will you forget the day?
Be it kept with joy or pray’r,
Keep of either some to spare;
Whatsoever brings the day,
Do not keep but give away.
|
|