Celebration

I live in a small town where Christmas has come and gone again, but our celebration will continue today with Boxing Day.

For the uninformed, Boxing Day is the English celebration that started when the lords of the manor gathered up all of their Christmas leftovers, “boxed them up”, and took them to the peasants on December 26th. The modern day incarnation has friends and family gathering together the day after Christmas to share leftovers, relax, play games and just extend the holiday.

My son, Ian’s, girlfriend, Katie, has an English mother, so Boxing Day is a tradition that takes place in their household. So for the second year, we are invited for Boxing Day at the Sabongi’s to share in the tradition as our families more firmly bond in what is sure to become a permanent union.

For years, my own extended family celebrated on the 26th because it was the only “safe” day for the massive Born clan to gather during the Christmas holidays. No one in our extended friends and family network did anything on the day after Christmas except burn wrapping paper and empty boxes, so my Gramma Born could count on dozens of Born relatives coming to her house to enjoy tasteless food and non-existent wine. If you were a granddaughter, you would have the pleasure of opening a gift of an identical size 40 full slip that matched the rest of your girl cousins whether they were age 10 or age 30. I don’t know what the boy cousins got, but I’m sure it was equally as memorable.

Being the pragmatic Germans we were, we called the 26th “Second Christmas Day”, and it was celebrated for as long as my grandparents lived, which was a pretty long time. Not nearly as much fun as the Sabongi celebration we will celebrate today, but something I remember fondly because it was so predictable…a tradition.

Despite a frantic world, I try very hard to maintain a few traditions from year to year so that my own children will have something to remember "fondly". Socks and underwear from Santa (who wants Santa getting credit for giving the good stuff?), a pass on Christmas Eve so the kids can celebrate with others who want to see them (other parents, potential in-laws, etc.), one new board game for the house so that there is something fresh to challenge our collective competitive nature.

Fred and I have our own tradition, just for the two of us. The kids’ Christmas Eve pass translates into a romantic dinner for two on the 24th. We cook a fabulous meal together, do some last minute wrapping, open our gifts to each other in private, go to church together and then, before going to bed, fill each other’s stockings in secret with all kinds of fun stuff we need and want – Golf Digest magazine and some cigars for Fred and Martha Stewart “Living” and some classic DVDs for me. At 53 and 60, Santa still fills our stockings.

Two days ago, as we sat eating our dessert by the fire, I looked out the picture window to see who was celebrating in the neighborhood. Lights were on in many homes, but the one that struck me was Mr. Anderson’s house across the street. Since Mr. Anderson died a few years ago, the once proud and lovely home had become sad and shabby. His only surviving relative, a nephew, tried to sell it or rent it out. But the revolving door of tenants made it hard to keep up with who was living there. Just as we’d get to know the “new neighbors”, they’d be gone, and another Uhaul truck would drive up with a new family. Realtors would bring potential buyers through, but no takers. Even at a ridiculously low price, the amount of work that would have needed to be done to make the home livable after numerous tenants and then standing empty for nearly 18 months brought the house to a low it had never seen when Mr. Anderson lived there.

It was like a domino effect was taking place at our end of the neighborhood, starting with the duplex on the right, and moving towards Mr. Anderson’s house, then Jeff’s house, then the Crack Dealer’s house and so on. But the Crack Dealer had died, Jeff fixed up his place because he got a girlfriend, and one day, another moving truck came and several SUVs and people moved a couple into Anderson’s house. For weeks the young couple and their families and friends worked on that house. One morning, we saw drapes on their living room picture window, and we knew that these folks would be staying a while.

So on Christmas Eve night, as we finished our dessert by the fire, we looked out the window at the house and the friends and family celebrating the holidays and being in a new home. We saw a dozen luminaries lining the stairway to their front door. Their beautiful glow said “Welcome and Merry Christmas” to everyone in the neighborhood.

I live in a small town.