Merry Digital Christmas!

Dear Friends and Family,

It’s been a slow news year around the Burk house. Sometimes you just have to create your own news, like this shocker: BARB BURK TO MAIL CHRISTMAS GREETINGS BEFORE JANUARY THAW! [Denizens of underworld brace for climate change, invest in North Face.]

Last year, as faithful letter readers may recall, I experienced some awkward Christmas newsletter writer’s block. I’ve analyzed this for the past 11 months and diagnosed a mild-to-sometimes-crippling case of Over-Auto-Apprehensivity (OAA). This taking-of-oneself-too-seriously is not to be taken lightly. Or is it…? Regardless—the advice from my diagnostician is to type the letter and stop moaning over dead brain cells in my humorthalamus. (Ironically, my seriousness has to do with wanting to be funny; it’s just that I used to at least make me laugh….)

Anna, Travis, Derek, and Amiee—just kidding about the slow news year! (An emoticon might be nice here; maybe the foot-in-mouth?) Obviously, two engagements, and within two weeks of each other (!), are excellent fodder for holiday headlines. Engagement stories brimming with drama and romance beg to be told. Travis was the first to pop the question, which is about like saying that Methuselah was the first of the over-900 crowd to kick the bucket. For two years Anna has been—how do I put this delicately?—dropping subtle hints that she was favorably disposed to such a question, until finally Travis said, “How can I ask when you’re always bugging me about it?!” In all fairness, she had given him six years before she started with the hints…. ‘Nuff said, it’s a done deal now; Travis managed to surprise Anna in romantic fashion (so you know Bubba was involved), and the years of waiting are forgotten in the glow of the 2-carat sparkler on Anna’s finger—an heirloom from Travis’ family. An August 2010 wedding is being Planned (is that capital P too subtle? should I italicize, bold, and underline to make my point?). Meanwhile, the happy couple maintain their status quo: jobs in Plymouth (A) and Rochester (T), apartment in St. Louis Park, new couch arriving any day, and Dog from Hell licking his chops in anticipation. (O Bubba, wouldst a puggle by any other name so sweetly embody evil?)

I’m a little late to tell the story of Derek and Amiee’s engagement; it has already been immortalized (i.e. You-Tubed) in Blair-Witch-esque footage, courtesy of Amiee’s twin sister Allison. This tear-jerker (“Wedding Proposal Part I and II”) has all the right stuff: nosy neighbors/ intrigue, Winnie the Pooh balloon/ element of surprise, firelight, guitar music, boy, girl, ring and Happy Beginning (I’m not the only one who reached for the tissues; Brenda, aka Auntie of Stone, choked up too, so you know this was heartrending material). Emboldened by a college diploma and job-like-situation, Derek was ready to take the plunge into commitment and adulthood. True, the degree is in Sociology—but darned if he doesn’t now have himself a Real (albeit temporary) Job, right down the hall from his favorite dad, analyzing social science survey data in Forest Resources at the U of MN. Amiee will polish off her Sociology degree this spring, and there’s talk of graduate school for Derek next fall (and by talk I mean that I hope application deadlines are being met; I trust Amiee knows about the burden of nagging that comes with the ring). Happy Couple #2 has set up house in a cozy apartment on Grand Ave. in St. Paul, where a beautifully color-coordinated Christmas tree provides further evidence for my theory that males with messy moms marry nice neat niñas. (I know you’re not crazy about Español, Amiee, but I was on an alliterative tear.) We look forward to more wedding fun in June 2011.

Elissa—just kidding about the lack of news! Because of course it is news when someone slaves and moans and suffers and sweats and puts off procrastinating and finally produces and defends a biomedical engineering Ph.D thesis—and practically submits it!! (This is another case in which deadlines must be respected; if one submits the final version before the deadline, that date becomes meaningless, and thus not properly respected. Elissa’s deadline, in January, is not likely to suffer the fate of Rodney Dangerfield.) Elissa, Ben, Ansel (now 18 months), Tom and I were all in Boston for the defense of “Applications and characterization of mRNA expression compendia in genetic association networks” the end of October. Besides Elissa’s profound relief at having survived the ordeal, and our joy in her accomplishment, the highlight of the trip would have to be watching Ansel T. emerge from the bathtub au natural, climb onto the hotel bed and invoke Dr. Seuss with some spirited hopping on his supine gran-pop. This would have been first-rate footage to enjoy with Ansel during his sensitive teen years if only I’d been quick enough on the draw. Ah well, better to enjoy the moment, I’m beginning to realize. Such moments are all too rare, with the Young Cosgroves living in Palo Alto, CA while Ben serves out a 3+ year post-doc at Stanford, begun last January. Now Elissa will look for a job as well, so that they can afford to keep Ansel in daycare, which he loves; he generally feels that a two bedroom apartment, even one with stairs, cramps his style a bit. Being a mini-man of action (and few words), he often goes to fetch his shoes as a subtle suggestion that it’s time for horizons to expand. (Actually, he has a word for “shoes” that may display an aptitude for learning Klingon; his modes of communication are definitely high on the list of his endearing traits—i.e. CUTE.) Overall, life in Palo Alto is not too bad, once you get used the boring sameness of the weather. (Sunny and 70? Ho-hum.) (Sunny and 0 here today, with a fresh snowfall; exhilarating!)

Which brings us back to 2329 Valentine, the mundane-but-exhilarated site at which we began. And of course I underplayed some news here as well: Grandma Gerry, snug in her basement apartment, is now a card-carrying Minnesotan—with a steadfastly Iowan heart. She is happy to have the ordeal of emptying and selling her house over with, and can laugh at the letter from her former neighbors that refers to her house’s new occupants’ children as hellions. We admire her for this, and for so many things; she is a blessing to us, and I don’t just mean at the kitchen sink (can I help it that she loves to do our dishes?). No childhood homes left for Tom or me to visit, but happily Gerry and my parents have weathered the extractions well, now in their second year of exile. (My mom and dad are still in Moorhead, just at some crazy new address that I’m too old to learn.) Meanwhile, Tom and I have very little to report—here’s where the real newslessness resides. Tom would like you all to know that there’s nothing new you need to know about him; and I would like you to know that I did say something funny this year: a friend overheard someone asking me about my back/ herniated disc crisis, and she asked me, “What happened?!” “I lived too long,” I said. It just came to me. Why is it that when children advance quickly for their age they are admired, while prodigious aging later in life is so much less gratifying? Hardly anyone compliments me on my fast-graying hair, my slight limp (remember the back problem?), or my memory lapses. No more accolades for being ahead of the curve.

My practice is to save my sermon on the meaning of Christmas (and/or life) for this last paragraph; looks like my available space is commensurate with my available wisdom, so that works out well. Of course there are the bonds represented by this practice of exchanging Christmas greetings; the very fact that you’ve read this far in my letter means a lot to me, and we love hearing from all of you. Beyond that, my inspiration is to suggest, ala Love Actually, that we infuse a little Christmas into whatever we hear. From today’s gospel in Luke: “Bear fruit worthy of Christmas”; from everyone’s favorite coke commercial: “What the world needs now is Christmas sweet Christmas”; and from e.e. cummings: “christmas is a better fate than wisdom.”

With our warm and perhaps even timely wishes for a joyous Christmas— Barb(i) and Tom