Off the Cliff

Either Canada Post has taken to late night deliveries in order to catch up, or it has quietly reinstituted Saturday deliveries in order to catch up, but for certain my mailbox was empty late Friday afternoon when I came back from physio,  and was full when I opened the door Saturday to watch for my Voila delivery. (It's not just the delivery guy, a second language speaker, who pronounces it Wulla. The ads do too, and it offends the French part of my genome no end.) The mail was all November stuff caught in limbo. My new credit card, thereby easing that anxiety. The Canuck dental plan telling me I qualify (thanks, guys) and that Sun Life will be sending me my card and paperwork 'within the next three months' (oh thank you *so* much. Yes I know why they have to go through an insurance company-- health insurance is otherwise a provincial responsibility-- but have we noticed that insurance companies are in rather bad odour these days? and isn't Sun Life the one currently diddling the civil service? Also I have a dentist appointment in ten days and hoped to be covered by then.)

More happily, Finder Jean's Christmas present made it though the one to my sister got sent back. I first thought it was an obi but no, it's a bag made from an obi, and is beyond elegant. I shall take it with me to the Art Gallery and other places that require you to check backpacks. Though it's actually quite big enough to carry a slim laptop if one were so minded.

A Nicholas Blake came in from the library finally and I was all set to sit back and enjoy it at my fave Japanese restaurant. But it turns out to be one of those 'international conspiracy to bring down His Majesty's government' ones,  and though I trust it's not as batshit as any of Dame Agatha's, I can't be having with international, or even intranational, conspiracies, so back it went to one of the two people waiting for it. And then as I was leaving, my nameless friend the waitress who always opens doors for my walker came outside with me and confided that the restaurant is closing at the end of January. Rents on Bloor are too high, etc etc. I can't tell you how upset I am about this. New Generation has been there for decades and the staff know me and and and. Now would be a nice time to win that 60 million lottery that's going, but lottery wins don't happen when you need them.

The trouble with sleeping past 11 is that I can't roll over and go back to sleep as I can do if I wake at 9. Yes, well. Life is rough.

Of course I also woke out of a frustration dream of trying to get three babies back to daycare, at night, in a triple stroller, through the University College (UofT version) campus, gone suddenly baroque with steps that aren't there and narrow gas lit passages, also with steps, that lyingly promised to take me up to Hoskins and Trinity College (again, UofT version: universities in the Brit-sphere have no innovation with respect to either names or architecture.) Could gave done without that, especially as my Christmas Eve dream was a  charming cosy murder mystery. I believe the white-haired Miss Marple-ish sleuth was in fact the murderer.

Weather is mild but grey and dank, and is supposed to rain all week, which is par for the Dead Days but also dispiriting. We may see some sun on Saturday. I went out today since the PoP was only 56% and got misted on. Tony Korean restaurant was fairly full, even at 3 in the afternoon, but the Koreans make the most of their holidays. When they get them, because the big supermarket and greengrocers were open. Bought celery for future turkey salads but was so full from egg and beef donburi that I skipped dinner. 

For once this decade I managed to get all my Christmas cards written and mailed with a minimum of internal hysterics, though that might be partly owing to a few names dropping off the list, and partly to there being nothing else I had to do. Still have a few seasonal snarlies, as when reading Piers Morgan's take on Prince Harry (what's with right-wing types' reflex projection? The editor of the Daily Mail's relationship with the truth is flatly adversarial) and the young idiot who decided to strike up a conversation with me as I was trundling home (we Do Not Do This in Toronto, unless there's less than ten years difference between you) which promptly turned into him telling me that masks don't work and why was I wearing one anyway? I should have said, 'So I don't have to smell that cigarette you're smoking' but because it's Christmas and I'm out of patience I just said Go away, and he did.

One reason to wear a mask is because temps reached a dizzying 14C/ 57F and all the leaf mould allergies came roaring back in the bright sunshine. Actually they've been doing it for days and I've been sneezing and hacking clear mucous up because of it. I'd almost rather have something actually in the lungs than this chronic post-nasal drip, but then I'd probably fret about COVID or RSV. So I keep hot beanbags on my chest and round my sinuses, and sleep propped up. 

Common wisdom is that at the solstice, it's dark at 5. But here we are, four days after, and it's light enough to see things clearly. No streetlamps required. Didn't think the sun came back *that* fast.

Quiet Christmas Day, of course. My expensive turkey dinner was good enough, though oddly the veg parts were better than the protein and carbs. Kale slaw, spicy squash mash, garlic mashed potatoes, beets. Elder bro dropped by with my present. I'd asked for a bottle of Bouchard Père et Fils Macon Lugny, a pleasant medium priced white wine. He brought me four. Thing being, when it seemed unlikely I'd make it to the LCBO at the end of the street- supposing I'd want to go to the LCBO preholiday in this time of omicron- I e- transferred him the price of ohh a large bottle of gin and a medium bottle of vodka, and he then proceeded to spend all of it on my wine. Fortunately I discovered a specialty wine store rather closer to home and got two bottles for emergency gift giving, so sent the red one home with him. With the wrong Christmas card in the bag but that's what comes of having two cards starting with J and not turning lights on to see which is which.

Today's meals have been on the disaster side. Started cooking a simple pasta lunch, discovered when I had the butter and seasonings added that the parmesan cheese had gone moldy which I didn't think parmesan could do, put unmoldy half on pasta but too bad, still tasted moldy, so dumped it all. Then there was the asparagus I cooked the other day and should have drained and put in the fridge, but kept it in the water to reheat and eat. This worked yesterday. By today, even boiled in new water, asparagus had acquired that unmistakable tinned asparagus taste. Blecch. So also into the compost it goes.

The one exercise I should do and don't is the sit and stand one. Is ok when getting off bed and futon, both of which are high, but owie when getting up from any chair in the house. Mostly because the other knee pangs and complains and buckles. This also makes going upstairs an unpleasant experience. The instinct of many years is to put my weight on my right knee, but right knee and hip now wince when I do, and left knee isn't quite strong enough to take my weight unsupported. I stll go upstairs step step step, hoping to strengthen things. But I'm still not strong enough to go downstairs that way-- I have to hop which is unadvisable on home stairs. Also right knee is much more tractable going down than up, so I'll still be doing step-foot step-foot for a while. 

The city of Toronto's planning department, as in duty bound, is constantly sending me notices of meetings at the Cttee of Adjustments, always of recent home buyers who want minor or major variations of the bylaws so they can have a third floor or an extension at the back or whatever. These are delivered to people within a one or two block radius, I think, but I'm not going to fash myself with what happens to a house across the street and twelve numbers up. Got another of those yesterday and would have binned it right away, but curious, thought to see who was building in the wintertime during a virulent pandemic. And a good thing too, because it turns out to be a cheque for close to $250. Only explanation on it is the terse note: tax rebate. But what taxes? Property tax rebates are handled by simply not withdrawing the usual installment. And though I know I've had water and garbage rebates in the past, they never took the form of a cheque. Of course I'm glad to have it, only... there's no ATM nearby to deposit it at. Or not at my current range of doable walking. Which today got me up to the end of the street for a prescription that hadn't come in, and two pricey bottles of wine to gift my next doors on either side. Pushing a rollator over rock salt and unshovelled slush is not fun.

The more so as today was a bad stair day, where both knees pang when going up and down, or occasionally when walking on the level. And since the dry cough, sneezing, and back pain are still with me, I cancelled my physio for tomorrow. This ought to ensure that I rise hale and sound with the sun bright in the day, but I'm not counting on it. But if it works, I might venture over to the laundromat to wash my sheets and blankie (yes, I have a blankie, the terrycloth sheet that, balled up, provides the cushion that all side sleepers are supposed to hold on to) and a couple of sleep hoodies as well.

However, in nice news, incandescens' present arrived this morning. Worried about that 'don't leave it near the radiator' message, I opened it up right away. Rum soaked raisins and marzipan figs. Yumm. And then a box of hazelnut truffles from South NND left in my mailbox, with a card thanking me for being so patient with Sadie the Dog. I texted her back with my thanks and the assurance that Sadie is a Very Good Dog and no trouble at all. (Unlike the Local Playwright's untrained chronic barkers across the street.) But as she's currently in Alberta, I'll have to wait to give her her wine.

Called my doctor to get the results of my three weeks ago' blood tests. Marvelous, magnificent, blood sugars and cholesterol have plummeted well into normal territory. So can I stop taking those statins? Oh no, it takes months for cholesterol levels to change. But mine have changed in the last four months. No, best wait till spring and then maybe I can go on half doses. Argh. Doctors do so love their statins.

However blood sugars are likely to go up again, at least for now, because my thin mint cookies have arrived, and I'm eating bread again, however whole wheat and seedy, and indulging in p&b sandwiches, and drinking wine on top of it. It's Christmas in the plague year and one needs support until the days start growing noticeably longer. May just add an extra half hour to my biking time.

I was finding that growing tedious, but-- well, t'other day I was hading to acupuncture in a cab when acupuncturist texted she was running late could we start ten minutes later? And I of course fifteen minutes early, as always, had to find some place to pass the time and so went into the foreign newsagents near by (near in the days when I could walk: a five minute limp in my current crippled state.) Browsed about, saw no books I wanted, but to show willing bought a back copy of the New Yorker. Turns out the New Yorker is perfect bicycle reading: light enough to hold while my knees bounce up and down (whoever called this an under table machine lied in their teeth) and engrossing enough in content that I don't notice time passing. Possibly might opt for a subscription, depending on finances.

Also came home yesterday to a gift bag from south NND, with a jar of mulled cider and a box of almond brittle. The latter I dare not eat for fear of losing fillings, crowns, and chunks of teeth, alas, but the former I can drink and do. Very cinnamony, which I hear has health benefits.

And G, your parcel also arrived today in case you were worrying about mail from the UK. I look forward to Friday to discover what it is.

So now my s-i-l is talking about cooking a suckling pig. 'But is your oven big enough?' her daughter asks. 'Oh no, we'd have to do it outside on a grill' says L, which ok maybe you can do on an apartment balcony, but suggests more strongly that she thinks she'll be here next summer.

Unless she's intending to cook suckling pig amidst the winter snow.

Went to Starbuck's for my morning latte, not as good as my local but oh well. Local is closed till after New Year's while the owner (s-i-l's grandson's girlfriend) visits family in Vancouver. Came home and fell asleep again. This unwonted somnolence is, well, unwonted. Considered opening my presents but did laundry instead because it was that kind of a day, so I left my prezzies as a post-dinner treat/ cheer-me-up.

But when I got to them after an abstemious repast (mustn't drink if I'm going to keep falling asleep, shouldn't drink if my sinuses are as clogged as they are)-- the day took a happy turn for the better. Incandescens' big squashy parcel turned out to be a thick hand-knitted shawl in my fave shades of wine and deep burgundy, and I'm currently wrapped up in it urm trying not to fall asleep again, because it conduces to comfy coziness and closed eyes and, well, sleep. It has the usual faint perfume of all G's productions, because she washes her hands in Lush soap while making them, and Lush is nothing if not tenacious. But in small quantities it's very Heian, and I appreciate it. So thanks very much, G.

Also there was an amusing present from a coworker, the most recent hire who, mindful of the undepaid life of an assistant, always gives me appreciation gifts at Christmas. Her Christmas bag contained socks (you remember that at a certain age socks become a welcome gift?) of a much better quality than my dollar store ones, as well as a small box of very good fair trade chocolates. And at the bottom was a small heavy oblong thing which- well, you see, whenever people at work say 'Oh thanks so much for helping out when we were short-staffed/ covering me when I got stuck in the subway/ taking care of the garbage and the diapers and the laundry', charmless me can be heard answering 'If you really want to thank me, buy me some gin.' So this time, K did. Bombay Sapphire, my tipple of choice.

Thus to all, and especially me, a good night.

Work is all gingerbread, peppermint bark, and sugar cookies. I can resist chocolate but not baked goods.

Also it seems I've signed up for Spotify since it has such obscure items as The Purcell Consort's Music to Entertain Henry VII, which exists chez moi as an ancient and doubtless fragile tape from the mid-80s and a crackly record that I have nothing to play on.

It's very nice that Lush has a million and one present packages, but why doesn't it have gift certificates? I can't use 90% of their products, given my oversensitive nose, and I'd rather not give products blind that may affect the recipient the same way.

There's no starch in the house because if I have it I eat it. But yesterday I was dying for bread, having missed out on the carb-fest that is Christmas dinner, and also on the turkey part as well. I had liver and ginger stir-fry, but that wasn't what I wanted: I wanted white meat and bread stuffing. When next door forgot the care package they promised to bring round before taking off to the wilds of nowhere for the cousins' Boxing Day party, I had no choice but to head out into the -22C gale (-7 for the F folks.) And happy to do so because I am not a homebody, and being indoors for a whole day (yesterday) makes me antsy.

So I double and triple and occasionally quadruple-bagged myself (quintuple if you count my camisole underwear) and headed out. Sun shone, wind had dropped from yesterday, I had my hiking staff, and the sidewalks were generally clear or flat. So I walked over to Pauper's Pub and had their exceedingly indifferent turkey dinner, but it was mash and stuffing and gravy and rather more turkey than I wanted and rather less cranberry sauce. And so my itch is scratched, and I walked back home as well to work some of the piggishness off. Walking is still miraculously easier than last year, or in shoes this year, and so I must hope it continues.

Vallista was very entertaining. Unfortunately it's left me with the desire to reread the whole series again, in my lazy end-of-year snowed-in fashion.

Not sure if we *are* snowed in, or if it will stop at 2-3 inches. But the tendinitis went ballistic today, turning into worrying and painful neck twinges, and I won't be exacerbating it with shovelling. Should not be exacerbating it with typing even, so must stop here.

Merry Christmas to all who celebrate, and to all a good night.

If there's a better way to spend Christmas than reading the newest Aaronovitch. I've yet to find it. Many thanks to incandescens for this particular treat.

(It's been *two years* since Foxglove Summer. Where does the time go?)

The s-i-l posted this graph on FB. Coincidentally, coworker gave me Santa Claus patterned rubber-soled socks for Xmas. Of course I was delighted.

1. Three Xmas cards in the mail. True, one was from my chiropractor, but cards are cards in this e-age.

2. I have gin and two kinds of vermouth, so surcease from pain awaits me when I get home.

3. Hydro bill arrives. Saga here- last bill I underpaid by a couple of dollars, and then when I noticed the fact I added an extra whatever-it-was ($3? $4?). But maybe my fingers slipped on the keyboard or maybe I was feeling flush, because I actually topped it up by $40, so this month's bill is twenty and change.

4. Bar acts of God, only one place I must be tomorrow and one Sunday, and otherwise I shall lie in bed, or on bed, with heated beanbags, and read my Dr Siris and listen to the snow turn to sleet turn back to snow. (Listen because the side bedroom has shoji screens that shut out the dispiriting view of the house-next-door a scant five feet away from me, if that.

1. Round about Christmas I started smelling green tea in my living room. Green tea isn't a pleasant smell for me- used to choke on it in the basement food section of any Japanese department store where they have the stuff loose and open in large metal bowls and don't as me why. Suffocating, I find it. This was the faintest ghost of that but still itchy-making. Finally traced it to my little tree, a pine branch embedded in a round of wood. Can't remember when I bought it- the weekend before Christmas seems about right- but it didn't take long to go bad, if that's what it is. Put it outside, and found it still had some pine scent left to it; but the musty smell was there too. Sad: little Christmas lights are cheering in the gloomy returned-winter (snowing) darkness.
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Because I've been Buying Stuff.

The demise of Book City has made it hard to find calendars. They used to have dozens, strung on wires above the tables piled with art books and recent releases, so you could check the insides. Rousseau, Art Nouveau, Japanese prints, Chinese artists, classic photographs... all your needs. Since then I've had luck at Midoco, the stationers down the street, but this year the selection was feeble. Same with the art framers on the other side of Book City's old store; same indeed with the Museum, that has ugly Group of Seven and uninspired nature pics. But there was at least a Japan calendar, and that I bought.

Then at the dollar store I found tiny LED lights for my tiny tree, but I need to get batteries for them. They're not very long: must use two strands.
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A grey dry day, cool not cold: best of November and March but different from both. After presents and breakfast, in that order, I went for a walk along the quiet grey streets, wondering again why Christmas is emptier even than Sundays in this town. (Because local restaurants and cafes are closed, I guess, up here at the residential level, and people are visiting elsewhere.) Much like new Year's in Japan, and very soothing. Walked off my December fantods, that *will* hit even when there's no reason for them, and came home to pop Loblaw's pre-stuffed turkey breast in the oven. Only it was a chicken breast, as I *knew* from perusing the case the first time, but clearly Tuesday I wasn't thinking. Wild rice stuffing is chicken, cranberry stuffing is turkey. Oh well; if I want turkey there'll be more of it at the store tomorrow.

Then wrapped presents and sorted receipts for tax purposes and filled out my application for the Guaranteed Income Supplement which I may or may not get- they calculate income differently from the tax people and I'm a hair high; and was pleased to be able to put my hand on my 2013 return right where it ought to be. So that's all right. Now for drinks and turkey and merriment next door.

Also it's now 4:50 and I can still see the buildings out back. What a difference from the day before yesterday's louring rain, when it was darker than this at 3:30. But still- three days past solstice and already it stays light to 5?

To wit, those last five days after Christmas and Boxing Day. (How glad I am to be living in a country that has Boxing Day, even if people have to work on it; at time-and-a-half, in the case of Blawblaws up the street, down from double pay, which is what one expects of ketchi Blawblaws. I was still happy, in my commercial Torontonian way, to have a place I could go and shop at, since doing it before Christmas, between crowds and ice and the freezer chill of the 24th, was literally painful.)

The Dead Days are usually warmer than usual, hence grey and wet and dank and suffused with wanhope: the emotional fallout of Christmas or a sense of tempus fugit, or in the worst years, tsunamis leaving hundreds of thousands dead. I'm actually pleased at the warmth of today, due to return to deep freeze slipperiness tomorrow; one takes one's mobility in winter when one can.
( Reading on same )

What have you finished reading?

Lai, When Fox Is A Thousand. Several thoughts as I was reading:
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What are you reading now?
Wilce, Flora's Dare, taking longer than I'd thought because of the weather, no really. Icy snowy Christmases are so rare these days.

What will you read next?
The new Pratchett, finally, after dinner and presents tonight.

I brined my turkey as per the web's instructions: 1 cup kosher salt per gallon of water. Brined for 12 hours (some people say 1-2 days for a turkey, but I'll go with 'no more than 24 hours.') Cooked yesterday afternoon, which kept me indoors when I wanted to be out. Drat that no more than 24 hours thing. Result was salty nearly inedible turkey and salty quite inedible bread stuffing. No idea why. Not a self-basting turkey, no huge quantities of salt in the stuffing. A mystery. The stuffing I suppose is 'saved from the evil to come.' (I don't need to eat a half loaf of bread in two days, and I would if it had been edible.) The white meat makes decent salad and probably will do a decent turkey fricassee. The dark meat I've frozen for some future use. After the equally disappointing chicken soup that resulted from my capon, I don't feel like making turkey soup. Luckily tonight is garbage night and the temperatures are arctic, so stuffing and bones and old soup can all go into the green bin outside where they will freeze quite unmolested by raccoons.

And I shall stick to broccoli and tofu stir fries in future.

"The best thing for being in a foaming fury", Merlin said, "is to clean something." (I was in a foaming fury for the usual RL reasons, boosted by my body's best efforts to lay me low with oh I dunno-- the usual December sinus infection, I fancy. Some things mindfulness meditation has no power to cure.)
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One of those Buddhist self-help books I've been reading all year posed the question 'What is the color of happiness? The sound? The smell? The taste?' Not so easy to answer all of those, but the smell of happiness I knew at once: woodsmoke. My spirits lift automatically whenever I encounter it, which isn't often, air pollution rules being as they are in this town. One reason I stayed as long as I did in Japan, I'm convinced, is because down the street from my dorm was a lumber yard, and the thriftless Japanese don't do whatever we do with scrap lumber-- they burn it. There's woodsmoke in Heiwadai all through the evening, and most afternoons as well.
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Morning: Woke from a dream about going to Shoujocon, or some Shoujocon, set long ago and far away in my brother's old bedroom in the family house. A lot of making last-minute hotel reservations while someone insisted on trying to upload their dancing and singing Sailor Moon .gif on my technology-challenged computer (possibly the one I had in 1987), so an element of frustration dream in it too. But mostly the sun shone and I was going to New York to see a lot of old friends; and was surprised to wake into Now when Shoujocon is just a distant memory.

Midday: The mail brought mvrdrk's elegant cotton and silk-knit cowl, or neck warmer as I call it, in my shades (burgundy heathery port.) The knitting is so fine I couldn't possibly wear it to work, but shall put it on when I'm dressed up to go out to dinner. Well, I *did* wear it to work to show it off, and because the pre-schoolers aren't likely to wipe their dribbly faces on it, but in general-- no, I shall keep the infings far away from it and it from them. But thank you so much, mvrdrk.

Evening: Up at Blawblaws to get Dimetapp for *my* snotty nose, I ran into a 50% off sale on Olay products. Someone said that all you need for skin care is Dove soap and Oil of Olay. Well, maybe. I was briefly tempted by the 'hint of foundation' one to cover those brown blotches that have begun to appear, but figured it'd just look like makeup, so bought the 'full-range protection' one that screens out UV rays and sunlight-- not that there's much of either in a Toronto winter. But it might actually, yanno, *moisturize.* 'Do you think these will actually make us look thirty years younger?' asked the unwontedly gregarious woman cruising the shelves at my side. 'I doubt it. And would you really want it to?' 'Mh, maybe not. I'd settle for fifteen.' Yes, so would I. Largely because at 45 I looked 35, which is a good age to look.

A winter coat, to start with. Was looking what prices Walmart had on machines and wandered by accident into Winners, as one does. Came out with cheapish plastic/ vinyl/ something jacket, figuring oh it will do now that my best beloved black cloth coat is ten years old and fraying badly. It more than does. It's waterproof. It's warm. The silly pockets that made me curse the first five times I wore it because they open *backwards*, open backwards so rain can't blow into them. It velcroes on top of the zipper (a good thing because I'm a button person all the way and zippers are counter-intuitive.) I can wear it without a fleecy underneath until the temps go below zero, and it's light. Ugly as sin, but light. Go me.

Then I went to Canadian Tire to get a vacuum cleaner and discovered a) what they have are Dirt Devil type things that b) don't have the kind of heads I'm used to and that c) are too heavy to get home on a bicycle anyway. But what CanTire had as well are solar powered Christmas lights, that I'd looked for in vain for several years. My house has no outdoor outlet. I can't wreathe my overwrought iron porch rails in fairy lights like next door. But I can wreathe them in a strand (these things are *expensive*) of solar powered lights that turn themselves on at dusk, so my house at last looks cheery at Christmas.

Also standing in line at the supermarket I saw a snack labelled, in our bilingual fashion, 'Maïs à la marmite.' Marmite-flavoured popcorn? Could not believe it. As well. That's 'kettle-popped corn' to you. This is partly why I'm taking French next year.

1. People have been putting up their Read This Year lists, and their Memorable Book of 2010 lists. I have no memorable books per se, but I did read eight Aubrey/ Maturins this fall. And then kickinpants sent me a Winnie the Pooh e-card this morning (the real Ernest Shephard Pooh and not the evil Empire's cartoon version.) Which was lovely, but I found myself thinking by reflex, 'Pooh is a lot like Jack, isn't he? And Piglet...' is *not* like Stephen, no really he's not.
( Continuing... )

Visited the house of a young friend. Young friend is hooked on phonics and has made a holiday sign, posted on the kitchen wall, that says 'Mere Christmas.' I concur with the overt portion of the sentiment.
( The perpetual snow saga )