You can also tell who the black sheep of the family is:

“Ann is doing well. She (and that guy she married) is moving into an apartment soon. Seems what’s-his-face finally got a job. We pray for them daily.”

Ooooh, it’s all so delicious! And, have I mentioned the obligatory paragraphs re: tragedy and death? This is standard protocol in most holiday letters. There you are, reading happily about the kids and the beach vacation and then BLAM! Faster than you can say Rudolph, everything gets all dark and frosty. They always start off the same way. “On a sad note …” or “Perhaps you’ve heard …” And then the gore fest commences. In shocking detail, every minute element of grandpa’s hip replacement fills the page. That, unfortunately, leads to the story of the violent car wreck, where death was avoided only by the grace of God, or the surgical procedure that went terribly wrong. (Some of these authors make Stephen King look like a Sesame Street writer.) And then, just when you think you can actually hear the ping of the heart monitor Aunt Jenny is hooked up to, it goes right on back to candy-coated perfection. With a jingle of saintly gratitude, the essayist offers a silver lining, “We realize now it was a blessing” or “I guess we learned a valuable lesson.” Such plucky optimism these yuletide correspondents have. It makes me all warm inside just thinking about it…but not gushy enough to type up my own tome.