My father recently showed me some telegrams my grandfather had sent my grandmother in 1943 when he was a Marine fighting abroad in World War II. It made me think about how much tougher it was for people to get in touch with each other; they didn’t have the option of texting, calling, emailing, Facebooking or Skyping ”“ all of which I’m sure are difficult to do on a whim when in the military, even today. My grandfather relied on telegrams. They’re faded and worn, but these messages of love and anticipation of reunion remain as crisp today as when they were sent to Mitchell Lane in Biddeford where my grandmother lived: “Darling be at my house Saturday. 2pm. Will be home. Longing to see you. Love Pitts.” The other said, “Having a nice time but wish you were here. See you Tuesday. Love Pitts.”

Seeing the postage and the typed message led me to remember all of the Christmas cards my grandmother would hang in her living room hallway. Every time I’d visit, starting in late November, she’d have just received a fresh batch of cards from friends and relatives all over the country. I loved walking through her house smelling whatever she had cooking in the kitchen, Christmas lights aglow throughout, and reading through the 100-plus Christmas cards she had hanging on walls, from the ceiling to the floor, and around every doorway. I’m grateful for the many friends and relatives who love me and who acknowledge me at Christmas, by any means they prefer. They don’t, however, send me Christmas cards. I receive five if I’m lucky. I do, though, receive many e-cards ”“ funny elves dancing with my friend’s faces superimposed on them, darting across my computer screen ”“ and other electronic messages of affection. But I certainly have never received the amount of cards my grandparents did ”“ or ever will ”“ another long-time tradition fading away.

In 1822, when sending Christmas cards became popular, the U.S. Postal Service hired 16 extra mailmen and the Superintendent of Mails petitioned Congress to limit the number of Christmas cards being sent due to concerns of overwhelming the mail system. Today, the cost of stamps has risen sharply. In 1950, a stamp was 3 cents. Today, it’s nearly 50 cents. Prices have soared in part because so many people are paying bills online and emailing rather than sending written letters. This is good for the environment, but has hurt our wonderful U.S. Postal Service. It’s no wonder so many people have stopped sending cards, but if we sent more, perhaps rates would start to settle and stop rising so rapidly. Although e-communications are a way of life now, I must say, every time I look at a return envelope when paying a bill that has “Save a stamp, pay online” where the stamp goes, I’m tempted. I never do, though. I enjoy the process of getting my bill together, sticking the stamp on it and putting it in the mailbox. It’s a solid and thorough process.

For many people, the cost of stamps and the cost of Christmas cards themselves have made the tradition of card-giving a small luxury they can’t afford. Looking over some of the cards my grandparents received, I’m struck by how modest, but sincere they are. Nothing fancy; sometimes a manger scene or a jovial St. Nick. No printed message to a one-size-fits-all audience. No summary of the year past and all of the exotic places visited, no highbrow art for a card, no mass-emailed cards from politicians and merchants. Instead, there was a short note, almost always in a woman’s handwriting, wishing good cheer and a happy year ahead. These were similar to cards my grandparents sent me over the years. I always looked forward to them. I could’ve picked my grandmother’s handwriting out from 100 samples. I imagine many grandchildren received similar cards from their grandparents over the years.

It warms my heart to know that my grandmother, Therese Dallaire Petit, received a telegram from her husband, Roland Lucien Petit, in 1945 saying he’d be home for Christmas. It was her first card of that long-ago Christmas season. She knew he’d keep his promise. After all, she had it in writing.

— Nicole Petit holds a bachelor’s degree in history and a master’s in American and New England studies. Petit has spent the past 10 years working for nonprofit groups that deal primarily with disabilities and child welfare. She is originally from Portland, but has strong family ties to Biddeford/Saco.