I finally figured out that Boxing Day (December 26) wasn't about pugilism, like I once thought. It might be about the tradition of opening the alms boxes in churches and distributing what has been collected to the poor in the parish or village. It may, more widely, be concerned with gifting servants and tradesmen if you are a boss or employee.
Of course, that is the observance in the UK and the former territories of the British Empire. Here at Leisure Lake, Boxing Day has morphed into Boxing Week and then Boxing Month, and will possibly become Boxing Forever. Walter and I made the decision this fall to do one more (final?) renovation on our house. Every other time, we have reserved at least part of the house as a sanctuary from chaos. I must have been drinking heavily, because this time there is no such thing. By choosing to replace all of the flooring, do interior and exterior painting in all rooms but one, and pull out and rebuild the kitchen and both bathrooms, I think we have doomed our lives.
The first step was easy enough (isn't that the way gateway drugs always are?). We started with our bedroom--just enough cleaning, sorting, and storing to get our feet wet and feel good about the process. We patted ourselves on the back for thinning our drawers and closets to make them manageable when we had to actually pack it all away.
There were some humiliating moments. Is it really possible that I had accumulated over 80 pairs of socks? What type of snob needs enough socks to go almost three months without doing a load of sock laundry? Hint: if you can't close your sock drawer, even when a third of your socks are in a hamper somewhere, you have probably gone over the edge.
And what can I say about the 26 different knee braces that we pulled out of Walter's closet, some still in the original packaging, except, do you suppose we could become a vendor for Amazon's sports portal?
There have been discovered treasures. The most obvious one was a written conversation between me and Erin apparently held during church when she was about a second grader and forgotten in the bottom of a purse last used who knows when. Here is the first of 8 pages:
Erin: I wont to riet to spek
(I want to write to speak).
Mom: Ok. Do you want to go to Gina's after church?
Erin: Yes. What time is DaD cuming home?(Yes. What time is dad coming home?
Mom: Dad will meet us a Gina's. You sang well and smiled pretty!
Erin: I want to tok about what to tock about something. I want you to think of one
(I want to talk about what to talk about something. I want you to think of one.)
Mom: Do you think Cinderella will be fun? What will it be like?
Erin: I think I hav ben to Cinderella be for.
(I think I have been to Cinderella before.)
Mom: What did you do in Sunday school?
Erin: I raed about Mary and Martha wan Jases cam to there hom Martha wus rising around but Mery wus listing to Jeses and Martha sed why is my sister nat helping me Jeses sed she is doing rite she is lising to me
( I read about Mary and Martha when Jesus came to their home. Martha was rushing around but Mary was listening to Jesus and Martha said "Why is my sister not helping me?" Jesus said, "She is doing right. She is listening to me."
Mom: That is a good story and you remembered it in good detail. What are you hungry for?
Erin: I dont no.
(I don't know.)
Mom: What does Davis want (and passes the note paper to Davis, who is in high school)?
Davis: I want the Fireman's Special, queso, and a breakfast taco (BTW, this is what he ordered every time during this period of his life).
Erin: Is it all most over?
(Is it almost over?)
Erin: Im tierd mom. Can you see the firshers neet
(I'm tired, mom. Can you see the [I don't have any idea what this is!]
Given her limited skill set at this point, I'll bet this written exchange served the purpose of distracting her for the entire sermon, if not the entire service. Win!
At least now the floor of my closet is ready and available to pull out the old and put in the new and the bureaus and chests of drawers are movable. The loft office hasn't been quite a one-day job.
Happy Boxing Whatever!