I walked into Dallastown this morning and mailed over a dozen Christmas cards, all to people I don't know and have never met. Madonna and child stamps, my favorite Christmas stamps every year.
The recipients are all distant cousins, all descendants of my great-great-grandfather through his eldest three daughters, two of whom I had no idea even had descendants until recently. As I researched my genealogy and wandered down lineages, I found names and obituaries. Those were clues, and clues led to more names and more data, like a puzzle.
I wrote out a short note in each card, scribbled a signature, and wrote a date. I didn't introduce myself or explain our link. It's distant enough that it hardly matters. If they want to get in touch, ask who I am and why I'm sending them a card, the address is on the envelope. Still, it's an act of random kindness from a stranger. Maybe one of the recipients had a difficult year or it going through a rough patch, and a kind word from a stranger will make a difference.
That's good enough for me.