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Boxing Day
It's also St Stephen's Day, which reminds me of that song--St Stephen's Day Murders.
For decades now, Boxing Day has been a sacred retreat day, which sounds pretty fancy until I tell you that I stay in my pajamas all day and write thank-you notes and switch over all the data into my new calendar. I eat leftovers--or I eat cake all day--and I read a book or watch a movie.
That's it. I don't make a new List for the next few months or work in the garden. It's going to be in the 50s here today and sunny, so I will take a walk later on.
I'll drink warm bevs--though not as much as in the tanker above--and relax.
No good deeds will be done, no wrongs will be righted, no justice dispersed. The cat will not be disturbed by shenanigans.
This whole week is a kind of time out of time--the "Christmas" stuff is done but it isn't quite the New Year. It may be a leftover from when I was in school, now I think of it. A free week. And as a Pagan, I've celebrated the New Year already--twice. Once at Samhain and again at Solstice. But the New Year's day traditions for good luck are abundant in southern Appalachia, so I'll observe a cultural New Year, too. And then there's Lunar New Year a few weeks from now.
New, renew.
I wish for you a day when you may lounge around in your black crushed velvet Sofia Vergara bathrobe and drink strong cups of PG Tips with the occasional bonbon. And read a book. And let the world slip by for one whole day.
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Of course, Puka might have his own ideas about shenanigans