It’s a quarter til 10, and the Puppy of Perdition and I are the only ones awake. A rare snow is falling in Mondoville, displaying the typical Southern hospitality by melting on the pavement but making everything else look pretty. Nonetheless, area churches are canceling services. Not far from here (about an hour Northwest) they have about 4 inches, and doubtless are in full panic mode. The part of me that remembers Ball State chuckles at the thought, but I’m still glad to be watching it through the living room window as I blog.
Although I don’t live in a Commonwealth country, I still think of today as Boxing Day, and back in the days before the Spawn, it was sometimes when Mrs. M and I would head to Toronto for a vacation. Our honeymoon was once such instance, as Mrs. M was working on her B.A. when we got married in October, 1993, and we had to wait for the semester break.
We got there in the evening, and set out from the hotel to find a place to grab some dinner. Almost every restaurant was closed, but we finally found what appeared to be a Chinese place a few blocks from the hotel.
After we took our seats, I realized it looked like a John Woo movie, with tough-looking men in black suits and white ties and incredibly loud Vietnamese karaoke music — a serious gangster vibe. We were the only folks in the building who weren’t of Asian ancestry. The food was mediocre, but we were glad to find it, and I had the sense that if I had complained, we might never be seen again. Sheer silliness on my part, I’m sure, but those little moments of imagined drama make vacation memories as well.
So now I look out at the snow and think of greasy beef fried rice, and I listen to Mrs. M (who just woke up) fixing breakfast, and I keep a warm place in my heart and mind for Boxing Day.