Dear Daddy,

You know, it's been a few years since you died now. It should be easier, and in some ways it is, but then I imagine you standing there on my doorstep on Christmas morning, smiling, with parcels, and snow on your sensible Grampa boots. You would stomp your feet to get the snow off and give me hug before even bothering to take off your cold parka. Your face would be smooth and you would smell like aftershave, the same aftershave I haven't had the heart to throw out and is still sitting in a box next to the Christmas decorations - a box of things like your airplane templates and little rubber wheels, Xacto knives, and geometry sets. The kids would run up to see you, full of hugs and curiosity. Maybe you'd let one of them pull your finger. And I'd roll my eyes.

You would have turned 68 this year, on December 8th. Wil turned 15 on December 3rd, and has taken up the guitar. Must be a Saggitarian creativity thing. You would be so proud of him. And Kaelan had his first dance with a girl today, and is learning how to put contact lenses in. And I know you would have been there to watch Mads singing in her choir today, too, and would have been bursting with pride for our little hamtart. These things would have been important to you, because Grampas care about things like that. And Serejane - she wore her pyjamas to school today and made teh bestest garland tree ever. I think I'm more sad she will have no memory of you than I am for anything else. She would have loved you so much. You would have loved her so much.

Howard would have been 56 yesterday. His boys are adults now - it's only a matter of time before I feel like I want to seek them out and set the record straight. We've found them both on Facebook and just don't know how to go about making things right. So many holes in our family, so needlessly. Like when the men die, the women just fall apart and cease to function like normal human beings. I'm so grateful for Bill.

I love what I do, Daddy. You would be proud of me, too. I wish I had a recording of you to share with everyone, singing Daddy of Three, or On the Wings of a Dove. I was proud of you, too. I miss you. Merry Christmas.

Dear Insurance Company,

I realize that you have to spend a tonne of time dodging clients with excuses for why you can't proceed with their claim, however, I do think that 6 months has been more than ample time for you to move on getting the siding on our garage replaced. I'm not sure whose butt my nose should be up, who I ought to scream at, or who wants me to buy them a hooker, but whatever it takes, now is the time, as I foresee a similar fate with the status of our wrecked car, and don't think either you or I wish to pay for a rental for the next 6 months. Seriously - send me your hotel room # and I'll ship over your ho, a bouquet complimenting you on your inadequacies, and a box of chocolates that you can stuff between your cheeks and pretend is my little brown nose.

Sincerely,

Hope

Dear Sinuses,

I know I have been very unkind. Since we brought the dog home, between the antihistamines, the nasal spray, and the incessant blowing I believe I kind of painted you into a corner with the nasal drip thing. I am OK with that, really, I really am - it's almost deserved since the best cure would, in fact, be to find a new home for the dog. Which you know I can't do. So the nasal drip I was willing to let you have.

But this recent sneezing thing? It's WAY overboard. Completely obnoxious and really, a little on the ignorant side even. I don't like walking through the house convulsing and running into walls without being able to catch my breath, it's dangerous when you bring on the fits while I am driving, and for gosh sakes - my sister knows I don't have a tub to read in... she's going to KNOW it isn't an accidental water spot making the puckers on that page of the book she loaned me...

Can we call a truce? I promise - PROMISE - to remember the antihistamines regularly and will dust more often, if you can meet me halfway and knock it off with the 2-hour sneezing fits. MMMK?

~Hope

Dear Bill,

Some people might say that you aren't the brightest star in the sky. I disagree. You did, after all, marry me.

Love and hugs from inside the bright and beautiful universe that is ours to enjoy.

yer wife

Dear the Onion,

Thank you for my laugh of the day.

Dear Empress,

It does no good to backpedal after you’ve contradicted yourself in public. People have ears and eyes and feelings and your wasted attempts at deflecting personal culpability only add salt to the wounds. The harder you try to ignore or cover your errors or pawn them off as someone else’s the more foolish you look. You are making it impossible for anyone to regain any respect they may have formerly had for you, and are merely feeding your enemies grist for the mill. Practice the art of being as transparent as your frocks.

Dear AMC and other confused readers:

Since there seems to be some misunderstanding about who the Empress is, I thought I would clarify. While the title "Empress" was initially dubbed for an actual person in my sister's life, I came up with the idea of using her as a metaphor for those times in our lives when we cling to our convictions in spite of heavy evidence to the contrary. As a child I didn't really 'get' the Emperor's New Clothes but as an adult I think the parable offers a great lesson in humility by demonstrating how silly we can be while holding tight to our pride, and how quick others are to ally themselves when they feel they are somehow threatened socially. Very much like a person becomes stupid after being told enough times they are stupid, eventually people begin to buy into their own bullshit. Then, when someone they respect or admire calls bullshit on them, all hell breaks loose. Innocent people are subsequently punished, ostrasized, or ridiculed for being in direct conflict with the person making up the rules.

See, there's a reason I'm so fascinated by this story. It's so rich with lessons! When you extend this lesson beyond that to the point where a person allows or wills themselves to be disillusioned, it also becomes a lesson on forgiving and being forgiven, laughing at yourself, admitting imperfection, and asking for and taking second chances. Unfortunately, not unlike deprogramming victims of brainwashing such as in the case of cults or kidnappings, even simple facts can be difficult to accept because this process carries with it immense feelings of shame and stupidity, which usually manifests itself in the form of being outwardly angry or hostile to those who are there to merely help or happen to be standing innocently by. It's at this point where the (Emperor or) Empress must choose to put on the proverbial big girl panties and make amends - with peers, superiors, subordinates, and most importantly self.

Lastly, when the initial 'con' comes from an external source, it's easier to place the bulk of blame outside oneself and move forward to a place of acceptance and healing. But when the initial conviction comes from within yourself it requires a long period of introspection and self-awareness but is prone to more relapses on the road to recovery. Think about what response would be elicited from "the bully" if he were outed for sleeping with a teddy bear? Or in My Fair Lady, how would the language expert react if he knew he had been conned by Professor Higgins into believing that Eliza Doolittle is a Hungarian princess? I wonder how members of Hitler's army or those who bought into his bullshit felt after the fact? How about all of us who wore acid-washed jeans and sported mullets?

I'm sure if we all think long and hard we can come up with one occasion on which we've observed the Empress, and one occasion on which we've emulated the Empress. Perhaps this is why some people make assumptions about who they believe the Empress is, while other are perhaps feeling paranoid when they read the Dear Empress letters. It is because we are able to recognize this very human condition that plagues mankind - from continent to continent, from coast to coast, within ourselves and within others.

Unfortunately there are those who never bother to make amends. They'd sooner cut their own eyes out than admit they might have been wrong. They would sooner sit forever at a table for one than ask for forgiveness. They instead choose to hang on to their foolish pride, bitter and hopeless and angry at the world until the day they die.