A Boxing Day Whore

A good number of years back I swore that I would never go shopping on boxing day again. Several things contributed to that decision, including not being a big fan of crowds, wanting to spend time with family instead, the book “How to Be Free” and the fact that I never bought anything I really ‘needed’ anyway. The older I get, the more that last one comes into play on a daily basis.

We had a fantastic Christmas day (if a little excessive in the gift department) thanks to my parents and their exceptional hosting abilities. My mother tried something new this year and made the turkey a day before. Once cooked, you slice it, layer it with lettuce and then refrigerate it. You then simple add a touch of broth and reheat it when needed. Tender and juicy Oh My God! There were of course, all the trimmings – turnip, mashed potatoes, beans, coleslaw, stuffing and canned peas (a family tradition that some won’t let go).

My contribution was the Christmas pudding. Unfortunately I soaked it in a little too much rum and when my niece and I set it ablaze, it burned for a LONG time. As I cut into it, the flames just had more surface area to cover and more fuel. We managed to get it under control and once the brandy butter and rum sauce were added, it was sinfully delicious.

Nothing says Christmas like gambling and after dinner and a snowball fight, we all settled down around the rumoli board. I was out about $12 at the end, my sister even more while CJ waddled up the hill to her parents, her pockets padded with ill-gotten gain. I had debated getting up early on boxing day and going out to look for two things I ‘needed’ – a flat screen TV and a Persian carpet.

Suffice it to say, my “No Boxing Day” shopping rule is firmly back in place. And I still have neither of those ‘must have’ items. In the morning, as I ate oatmeal at my parents table, my mother commented on the ‘whore frost’ (and I know it is spelt hoar, but that is no fun!) that covered the trees. I protested loudly at the use of such language in the presence of my virgin ears (and my niece was there too). But apparently, that is the proper name for it. Whore Frost, Sluts Wool – whatever happened to such simple times. Ahhhhhhh.

I wisely waited until everyone was up so we could have one more visit before my brother and his family headed off for another Christmas feast, my sister loaded her cats in the car and my parents finally got to put their feet up. I then foolishly headed to Best Buy, Leons and IKEA. As I said, never again. As I drove out of Fergus, and eventually down the escarpment, the frost faded. But while it lasted, it was truly a beautiful sight.

Next year, and every year going forward, if mother nature will be so kind as to indulge me, I will sit home and enjoy what she puts on display. So much better I think.

I hope you all had a very Merry Christmas and were wiser than I and avoided the malls and saved your shekels.