Every year around this time I struggle to put into words how much my mom has meant to me.  She’s kept me safe and kept me reasonable. She’s always insisted that we be kind and also useful. She raised us to be compassionate but not sweet (an important distinction), and taught us early on that “of course, bourbon is always an asset.”

I know, also, that my affection for words comes from my mom, who strings them together with SUCH effect both when she’s heaping praise and reviewing expectations.

So this year, I’ve decided to re-write the sappy store-bought cards -- whose lines she would absolutely detest -- in favor of something more true.