A Series of Unfortunate Events
(an homage to Lemony Snicket and those annoying Christmas letters about people's ailments)

Dear Reader, if the type of Christmas letter that you like to give and receive is one of those that recounts the minor details of a perfectly wonderful life then this letter is not for you. Put it down and enjoy your own holiday wonderland safe in the ignorance of the little moments of unpleasantness that are related herein. If, however, you do revel in the glass half empty, we have your drink ready.

For most of the year, our heroine Jill toiled on her PhD, which set upon her such tasks as befitted one so enslaved. This included her last classwork hours as well as the research, writing, and defense of her dissertation. All major vacations were delayed or denied for she had to spend her nights and weekends in pursuit of this nightmare, at the same time that she also was required to fulfill the needs of her employer, Mr. Battelle Memorial Institute, generous in underwriting her studies but requiring his own 40 hours a week labor. There is a happy ending to this portion of the story, but we must concentrate on even less happy occasions before we can deign to speak of it.

The other half of our unlucky pair first felt the sharp pains of impending doom in March, during his daily walks to and from his own place of servitude. He unwisely dismissed these warning signs as simply the bracing cold of the season and his poor exercise regime, until at the end of the month on a much warmer but still gloomy morning, the tightness in his chest and numbness in his fingers could no longer be denied. A visit with his local physician confirmed his own lay diagnosis of acute angina, and he was scheduled to visit the offices of medical specialists who set him upon a simple task of walking upon a treadmill while they evaluated his performance. Unable to complete this most minor of tests, he was instructed to report the next morning for a investigative foray that began by inserting a hollow tube into the major artery of his right leg then directing a flexible needle to the heart, where it was discovered that his unfortunate heredity and sedentary lifestyle had combined to create 60 to 80 percent blockage. But, fear not, dear reader--this was not the end of our hero, for the specialist viewed his youth as an opportunity rather than a hindrance, and instead of undergoing a bypass operation, informed him that if he reformed his habits, along with chemicals to be prescribed, he might yet avoid such a serious fate, if not for the nonce, at least for a number of years.

It should not be surprising, however, that this put our two protagonists in a serious bad humour for most of the summer, as Glen began to understand the limitations of his condition, and before the correct combination of pharmaceuticals was achieved that enabled him to return to his weekly tennis matches. Fate was not yet done toying with our subjects, as it was during this time that Jill's horse, Rogue, began to refuse to eat and started losing weight at an alarming rate. The usual suspects were consulted and yet nothing that was tried--new grain, apple treats, or supplements--affected her appetite or waste. Jill sought the counsel of equine friends and specialists until finally it was discovered that a collection of ulcers could be found under her tongue. But was this the cause or the symptom, dear reader? We shall sadly never know, for the beloved horse reacted badly to the ministrations of those physicians around her and expired in the arms of our heroine, who was rightly devastated by the sudden loss of her friend and companion of over ten years.

I would like to say that is the end of our unhappy tale, yet there is yet one more section you must endure, and which I am sure you can handle if you've been able to last this far. For when Jill and Glen returned to their abode the night of Rogue's passing, the littlest cat, yclept Morgan by them, complained with some volume when she was picked up. When examined she was discovered to have an abscess in the posterior scent gland. Since stress is now discovered to be a cause of aging, let me relieve your mind by informing you that Morgan has fully recovered to her former self and this episode in our story is remarkable not so much for its occurrence, but its poor choice of timing.

(We make scant mention of the events of the larger world, except to note that these trials and tribulations seem trivial in comparison to the unnecessary and ill-conceived conflict that kills and maims poor souls daily, and the politics of fear and bigotry, which threaten to dominate our better natures nationally.)

Did I not imply that some small ray of happiness might yet be possible for our couple? For Jill's hard work did come to fruition at the end of the year by being confirmed by her committee and awarded a doctorate of Environmental Science by the learned scholars of the University of Maryland, Baltimore County. To celebrate, she and her companions head off to the isles of Trinidad and Tobago in that most rare of endings to such a series of unfortunate events, a happy one.

Do you sigh in relief, dear reader? So do our heroes, who hope that your year was not simply no worse than theirs but moreover based on an entirely different form and plotline, perhaps that of the magical Ms. Joanna K. Rowling or the delightful Mr. Lewis Carroll. Until then do we bid you farewell and a happy holiday season.

Jill & Glen