Boxing Day (Now, With More Box!)

Partly as a response to my childhood desolation on the day after Christmas every year ("whaddya mean, it's all over?"), as an adult, I created my own holiday.

Of course, I didn't do it alone.  It happened like this:  The year I turned 21, I lived with 3 male roommates in an extremely drafty old farmhouse.  We were all poor starving college kids who had to go home for Christmas to get a square meal, if not for the familial bliss.  One of the guys actually had a cunning plan to snag some firewood while he was at the old homestead, hoping to alleviate some of the draftiness for all of us.  We struggled to buy presents for our kin, apologizing to each other for the fact that not one of us could afford gifts for the other three roommates. 

We were sitting around bemoaning the fact that Christmas for us as young adults had lost some of its magic.  Not only that, but we all agreed that the people we really wanted to celebrate with were right there, rather than the families we had struggled so hard to liberate ourselves from as young adults.  It came to me in that moment that what we needed was our own celebration.  We agreed that we were going to claim the day after Christmas as our very own.  No presents were needed, we planned to relax together in front of the newly-purloined fire, share any spoils of leftovers we could score from our family feasts, and generally extend the spirit of Christmas into the following day.  It even already had a convenient name:  Boxing Day.

The first Boxing day, with only the four of us, is a memory I will always treasure.  Not because we were finally warm (though that was an important component at the time), and not because we ate like kings (though we did).  The really precious thing was feeling for the first time that I really had the power, as an adult, to choose my own people with whom to spend special times.  And special times are the ones you decide that you will have, not the ones declared by the calendar.

Today I'm spending the 19th annual Boxing Day with my college roommates.  A lot has happened since the first year.  I married one of them.  We are the Godparents of the child of one of the others.  This year we celebrated the marriage of the third roomy.  Other dear souls have been added to our number.  One wretched year we lost two.  Still another abandoned us without explanation.  But the roommates, and their spouses, and their children, and the rest of our closest friends still gather on Boxing Day.  Sometimes we reflect on the prior year.  Often we debrief from holiday stress.  We always plan the New Year's Celebration.  What really matters for me is that Christmas doesn't end on December 25th.  Christmas is for Christ.  Christmas is for family.  Christmas is for children.  Boxing Day is for Kinship. 

Call your closest friends today and invite them over for leftovers.  Share my tradition and spread the blessing of love and gratefulness to the friends you love the most, and who you may not have had time for in the last busy weeks.  After all, relations are foist upon us; our friends we get to choose.

Oh, and one more thing:

The Madrona yarn is here.  Behold the Glory.  Kits and updates coming soon, very soon. 

In the meantime, Tidings of Comfort and Joy.

Mischief Managed

First thing this morning at our house, Phillip was awakened by pounding:

Phillip:        (dubiously) Whatcha doin' there?
 

Me:            Project Management.
Phillip:       Oh.  Because to the untrained eye, a woman swinging a hammer might look like she's starting a project.
Me:            That's not what's happening here.  This is creating a project management system, so that I can stop the swirling of soup that is happening in my brain, each time I think of another thing I'm supposed to not forget.
Phillip:        Most people would use a spreadsheet.
Me:            Have you met most people?
Phillip:        Yes, and they cannot knit.
Me:            Precisely.  Nor can they manage projects.  At least not my projects, which are many, bizarre, and diverse.
Phillip:        (bemused) Carry on then.  But you do know you can buy calendars and such for this?
Me:            Those are for regular people.  Not Knitters.
Phillip:        I love the fact that for you, Project Management involves hand tools.

L A T E R . . . 

Me:             Look dear, it's finished!
Phillip:        Cool!  Can I have one too?
Me:            Yes, but not as cool as this one.
Phillip:        Why not?
Me:            Because you don't know how to knit.
Phillip:        Fair enough.

Rare Gems prizes get mailed tomorrow.  Congratulations, Martha from Billings, who correctly guessed which skein had her name on it!

In Vest Ment

I worked on Phillip's Christmas vests on Saturday.  About 8 times.  First he came back prematurely from the grocery, forcing me to stuff both vests-in-progress into the china hutch.  Then he came back early from playing soccer in the park with Campbell ("I tried, mom, but HE got cold!"), causing me to stuff both vests-in-progress into the canned foods cabinet.  When he reappeared unexpectedly from folding the laundry (epic task calculated to occupy him until Spring), I knew my unbridled optimism had run afoul of the universe.  I crammed the vests-in-progress into the freezer, realizing there was simply no way the vests were going to happen.  Period.  Phillip was going to get (yet another) box of unsewn fabric pieces under the tree this year.

Sunday morning Phillip rose bright and early to spend the entire day with the fellas, watching the game.  Which I had known was his plan for some time, but totally forgot about.  So all that cat-and-mouse stuff the day before had been totally unnecessary.  In fact, I'd say there was a good chance Phillip figured out I was trying to be stealthy and kept popping up again just to mess with me.

So once Daddy ditched us on Sunday (good riddance), I was able to finish the vests.  After I defrosted them, of course.  Smallies modeled:

Later that night, I was starting my next project , doing what I do to figure things out, when Phillip burst out laughing and snatched up the camera:

Apparently it's hilarious that his wife, the knitwear designer, does not know how big her own forehead is.  Well, how else would I find out?

Rare Gems contest results next time, I promise!  Christmas knitters, take heart:  If I can pull it off, so can you.  Keep fighting the good fight.