Now, Chris and I fancy ourselves fairly good ethnic cooks, so we usually dream up some elaborate dinner from some warm and exotic locale, to take our collective mind off the cold and ice that awaits outside our doors, this night and many nights to come.

This year, we focused on Mediterranean North Africa, and the dinner included dishes from Algeria, Morocco, Tunisia, and Egypt.  Somewhere dry and warm, where the Sun was shining and blue water sparkling on a north-facing expanse of white sand coast line ... ah, I need a vacation.

We started the Boxing Day event about 15 years ago because it seemed to be the only time we were practically guaranteed that people could make the party.  Before that, we would have a tree-trimming affair in mid-December, and almost always half the crowd couldn’t make it for one reason or another ... they had to sing the Messiah; they had to go to another party; they were too busy picking someone up from the airport/buying gifts/making cookies/fill in the blank.

But a relatively unknown holiday AFTER the holiday ... on the Feast of St. Stephen ... hey nonny nonny no!
Suddenly everyone we knew who wasn’t travelling could and did show up, and the thing just got bigger and bigger every year as our son and heir Tristan’s friends joined in the mix, and more people heard about the food, and relatives and friends flew in or drove in from out of town just to be there.

We call the thing the Swellegant Soiree, which is a line from a Cole Porter song, ‘Well, Did you Evah?’.  “Have you heard ... it’s in the stars ... next July we collide with Mars!  Well, did you evah?  What a swell party this is! What an elegant, swellegant soiree!”

So anyway, we had about 50 people altogether this year.  It was in fact difficult to move around. And for the first time ever (evah?), the police showed up.

Apparently, some merrymakers’ cars were blocking the road.  But Michelle was really nice about it, and said she’d be back in a little while, and it would be in our guests’ best interests to move their cars before she came back, ticket book in hand. And by then, they moved the cars, so all was right with the universe.

I didn’t really have time to talk to anyone ... it always works out like this.  But my role is to bring all these people together, as I see it, to forge new connections ... new tendrils from one life to another, helping to build a bigger community.  People from our differing lives ... or differing areas within the same life ... get to know each other and recognize each other from year to year, even if they don’t have any contact the rest of the year, and greet each other like long-lost friends.

The food ran out remarkably early, and I forgot to put out cookies, and we all forgot to set off our Christmas Crackers, which always happens.  If I had a dollar for every time we had forgotten to do the Christmas Crackers, I would have enough for ... well, a pizza, anyway.  Then I gave each person or family their ‘box’, which this year was a small candle that I didn’t make.  Normally I make the little gifts, but this year I had absolutely no time for that. Nobody seemed to mind, though.  And each of the little kids got a small gift, too.

Because it was a work night, the party ended fairly early, around 10 or so, and then we looked at the dishes, halfheartedly did one load in the dishwasher, and went to bed. 

The next morning, though, I was able to finish up pretty easily.  With only a slight headache, I made the kitchen sparkle like the blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea.  And when I came back in from taking the recycling to the kerb, I could faintly smell the cinnamon and orange flower and turmeric that recalled the cooking of the night before.
Happy Boxing Day to all who couldn’t make it.  Try to make it next year.