The origin of “Boxing Day,” celebrated in the U.K. and a number of other countries on the day after Christmas, is somewhat murky. But in general, it seems to be agreed that it originated as a day of giving gifts of money, food and other necessities to the less fortunate. All in all, a nice idea.

For years (when I was much, much younger), I thought it was so named because it’s the day we get rid of all the boxes from the gifts we opened the day before. Which, of course, it is . . . but as it turns out, that’s just coincidental.

In any event, December 26th is also a day for catching our collective breath after the rush of festivities, shopping, wrapping, cooking, baking, etc., etc. And it’s a time for looking ahead to a fresh new year . . . full of hope and a promise of peace throughout the world, and a renewed resolve to be just a little better — to others and to ourselves — than we were last year.

Yeah . . . right.

Like that’s really going to happen. The world’s not going to change overnight; deep down, we all know that. And on a personal level, we make the same ridiculous (though well-meaning) resolutions year after year: to lose weight, to get more exercise, to clean out all our closets or the car or the garage or the pantry or whatever, to keep in touch with old friends, to read all the books in that “to-be-read” pile . . . The list is endless. And we usually try at least to keep up with some of it, until life intervenes again.

Let’s face it — t’s hard to start on that healthy diet with all the holiday leftovers staring at you every time you open the refrigerator, especially considering the price of food these days. (By the way, who was the smart aleck who determined that 2024’s U.S. inflation rate was a mere 2.6 percent? I would like his or her phone number, please.)

Anyway, it would be sinful to waste that $60 cheesecake and the $20 worth of ingredients that went into the potatoes au gratin. We’ll renew our commitment to broccoli and tofu when all the goodies are gone.

In all fairness, you did begin reading that one book, and you were just getting into it when the kids started begging you to play their new Nintendo games with them. After all, what’s more important: your relaxation, or spending quality time with the little ones while they’re still young enough to want you around? There’ll be plenty of time to read when they’re in college.

As for the exercise . . . well, trying to get in your three miles a day when the streets are covered with snow and ice would be nothing short of suicidal. And there isn’t time for that after playing with the kids anyway, what with the sun setting so early. Maybe in the spring.

So you’ve taken your use-it-or-lose-it leave this week. What a perfect time to tackle those organizational tasks you’ve been ignoring for months. You open the pantry closet, and the first thing you see is the spice rack: 37 . . . no, 38 little bottles and tins of everything from Anise to Zaatar, all of it outdated and most of it used once in some experiment that had the whole family gagging as though you’d fed them rat poison. You can probably keep the cinnamon and the basil, and toss the rest.

Okay, this is good . . . we’re on a roll here. Next: cereal. Boxes of sweetened, unsweetened, high-fiber, high-protein, low-sodium, flakes, squares and circles. Opened, half-eaten . . . and, of course, past their “may be toxic” date. Toss it all, and add oatmeal to this week’s shopping list.

Canned goods? They last forever, don’t they? Sorry, but no. I clearly recall one pantry clean-out that included soups that had expired two years earlier because I had never thought to look for an expiration date.

And so it goes, until you’ve filled three of those big trash bags with enough food (if it hadn’t already grown tentacles) to have fed a family of four for a month.

And now you’re feeling guilty about all that waste, so you head back to the kitchen for some more of those expensive leftovers before they go bad. And you start thinking about the next project. Maybe the utility closet.

Right . . . first thing tomorrow. Immediately after you make your famous turkey noodle soup from the carcass of the Christmas bird. It would be a shame to waste all those good bones.

I’m sure you get the picture. By February, you’ve racked up enough good intentions to pave an eight-lane superhighway to Hell. And now the refrigerator needs to be cleaned out again because the left-over turkey soup from Boxing Day is beginning to smell like another one of those science experiments.

Oh, well . . . Better luck next year.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/26/24