Dear Karyn,

Well, Merry Christmas. Your son Matt and I wanted to wish you a happy holiday season, and we thought we'd do it in the most peculiar way imaginable—by giving you a website about your money. I know... I know. Most people give fruitcake or a nice sweater or one of those candles that smells like a pine tree that's been set on fire. We decided to give you pie charts and asset allocations. It could be a wonderful gift or a terrible mistake, and we won't know which until you've had a chance to look around. But I hope you know it comes from a place of love, even if it's a strange way of showing it.

You may be wondering what an old radio man from Minnesota is doing talking about investments. That's a fair question. I've been wondering the same thing myself.

As you may have heard, I had some time on my hands these past few years. There was all that business in the newspapers—you know the kind, where people say things and other people write about what they said, and then more people have opinions about what was written about what was said. It was, if I may say so, a bunch of hooey. The kind of nonsense that happens when people on the coasts get bored and need something to be upset about. But that's behind us now, and I don't dwell on it, because dwelling is what Lutheran basements are for, not what minds are for.

What I did do with my unexpected free time was take up bridge. And one of my regular partners—this is the strange part—turned out to be Warren Buffett. You've probably heard of him. He's the fellow from Omaha who got very rich by buying things when they were cheap and then waiting. That's it. That's the whole secret. Buy cheap, wait. He could've written that on a napkin, but instead he writes a letter every year that people treat like scripture.

Warren and I would play bridge—sometimes down in Omaha, sometimes up here in Lake Wobegon when he felt like getting away from people asking him about the stock market—and between hands, he'd talk about investing. Not in a showy way. Warren doesn't do showy. He'd just mention things, the way you might mention that the Lutherans are having a bake sale on Saturday. "You know, Garrison," he'd say, "most people make it too complicated." And then he'd bid two hearts and that would be that.

After a few years of this, I started to think maybe I'd learned something. Enough to be dangerous, as they say. Enough to hang a shingle outside the house and offer my services as a financial guide. Not an advisor—that's a legal term and involves paperwork I'd rather not deal with—but a guide. Someone to walk alongside you and point out the interesting rocks and warn you about the holes in the path.

Your son, for better or worse, thought you should be my first client. My only client, as it happens. I'm not looking to build an empire. One client is plenty. One client is, frankly, about all I can handle while also feeding the cat and keeping up with the crossword.

So Matt built this website. He's good at that sort of thing—the computers and the charts and making numbers appear in little boxes. The idea is to give you a place where you can see how your money is doing without feeling afraid. Without wanting to hide under a pillow. Without needing a finance degree or a subscription to the Wall Street Journal or any of that. Just a friendly place, like the Chatterbox Café but for your portfolio, where you can stop in, see what's what, maybe have a cup of coffee, and go about your day feeling a little more informed and a little less anxious.

I figure our Midwestern sensibilities are exactly what's needed right now. The people on the coasts are yelling at each other about this and that. The folks in Washington are... well, you've seen the news. Everybody's got an opinion and they're all certain they're right. Meanwhile, up here in Minnesota, we're just trying to get through the winter without the pipes freezing. We don't get too excited when things go up, and we don't panic when things go down. We put on another sweater and wait for spring. That's the approach we're bringing to your investments.

Here's what you can expect. Every month, I'll write you a letter. It'll be like this one, more or less—some thoughts on how things are going, what we're watching, maybe a story or two. Matt will handle the research and the numbers, and I'll handle the writing, because that's how we've divided things up and it seems to be working so far. The letters will appear here on the website, with charts and graphs for those who like that sort of thing.

And—this is the part I'm a little excited about—you'll also be able to hear me read the letters out loud. In my own voice. Like the old Saturday evenings, except instead of Powdermilk Biscuits and the Lives of the Cowboys, it's the life of your portfolio. But don't worry. It's not going to be like those shows on cable where people yell at each other. It's just going to be me, talking slow, keeping it simple, maybe making a joke here and there. The kind of thing you can listen to while you're doing the dishes or folding laundry or just sitting in a comfortable chair watching the rain come down in the kind of voice you can fall asleep to, which I mean as a compliment to both of us. And when it's over—or when you wake up—you'll know a little more than you did before.

If you ever have questions, or if something's worrying you, or if you just want to know why we own gold instead of something else, you just tell Matt. He knows how to get messages to my assistant—her name is Elaine, she's very organized—and we'll make sure to address whatever's on your mind in the next letter. No question is too small. No worry is too silly.

That's about all for now. Have a look around the site when you get a chance. Check out the pie charts—we're quite proud of those. Pour yourself something warm. And know that somewhere in Minnesota, an old radio man and your son are keeping an eye on things, doing their best to be sensible in an often nonsensical world.

Merry Christmas, Karyn. We're glad you're here.

That's the news from Lake Wobegon, where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the portfolios are above average.

Good night.

— Garrison

(with technical assistance from Matt, who figured out how to make the website work and keeps asking if the font is too small, and I keep telling him it's fine, Matt, the font is fine)