Boxing Day

[sluggo]

• Boxing Day •

Pronunciation: bahk-sing day • Hear it!

Part of Speech: Noun phrase

Meaning: No, it isn't a day we traditionally get into the ring, though children overjoyed at the bounty of Christmas might have gotten a boxing of the ears in days past. It is the first weekday following Christmas, the traditional day for giving gifts to servants and employees in the English-speaking world.

Notes: Throughout the UK, Australia, New Zealand, and Canada, December 26 is still an official holiday. If the day after Christmas is Saturday or Sunday, Boxing Day is the following Monday.

In Play: Boxing Day is also known as the Feast of St. Stephen, named for the first Christian martyr. It originated in 19th century England under Queen Victoria, when it was the day "on which postmen, errand boys, and servants of various kinds received a Christmas box of contributions from those whom they serve" in the words of Charles Dickens. If you come from one of the unfortunate English-speaking nations that does not recognize Boxing Day, just remember that it comes right after "unboxing" day, Christmas.

Word History: Boxing Day is probably the day after Christmas because servants often worked on Christmas. It was called "Boxing Day" because it was the day when a box was filled with Christmas gifts and delivered to service providers. (We hope that our old friend Grogie of the Alpha Agora has had another wonderful holiday as a reward for suggesting today's very topical, seasonal phrase several years ago.)

[Perry]

St. Stephen Lyrics
» Grateful Dead
Saint Stephen with a rose, in and out of the garden he goes,
Country garden in the wind and the rain,
Wherever he goes the people all complain.

Stephen prospered in his time, well he may and he may decline.
Did it matter, does it now? Stephen would answer if he only knew how.
Wishing well with a golden bell, bucket hanging clear to hell,
Hell halfway twixt now and then,
Stephen fill it up and lower down and lower down again.

Lady finger, dipped in moonlight, writing "What for?" across the morning sky.
Sunlight splatters, dawn with answer, darkness shrugs and bids the day goodbye.

Speeding arrow, sharp and narrow,
What a lot of fleeting matters you have spurned.
Several seasons with their treasons,
Wrap the babe in scarlet colors, call it your own.
Did he doubt or did he try? Answers aplenty in the bye and bye,
Talk about your plenty, talk about your ills,
One man gathers what another man spills.

Saint Stephen will remain, all he's lost he shall regain,
Seashore washed by the suds and foam,
Been here so long, he's got to calling it home.

Fortune comes a crawlin', calliope woman, spinnin' that curious sense of your own.
Can you answer? Yes I can. But what would be the answer to the answer man?

I have mixed feelings about the Saint, but I love the song.