They were part of the tradition, part of the joy and part of the expectation. I can still see piles of cards in front of my mother. Her beautiful handwriting graced fronts of envelopes as she diligently wrote out addresses and duplicated ours in every lefthand corner. She composed classic Christmas letters with my father, describing the most interesting bits of our year and excluding all the sibling rivalry—mostly caused by me. Personal greetings inside sturdy cards of snow-scenes no doubt left each recipient feeling remembered and loved. Add an Olan Mills, lick a tasty stamp and bam—Christmas spirit.     For all I know she lovingly placed them…