The time between Christmas and New Year’s Eve is referred to as ‘The Holidays’, when people spent this cold and uneventful period in parties and socializing. The twelve days of Christmas were just that: twelve days of  celebration. I feel my Northern Latitude blood bubbling* to do so, but my 21st century cerebrum has me back at work with business as usual and already trying to diet in reaction to the 48 hours of Yuletide gluttony. No fun in that.

It is that time of year when it is quite dark when I drive to work. I like this time of year.It is certainly not ‘depressing’ but cozy and serene.

It is the cold time of year. It gets down into the 30s at night, and hardly warmer than 55. As usual we are being cheap and not turning on the heat. Someone’s near continual use of TV generates enough heat to keep the west wing tolerable.  Not so the east wing, where I reside. I wrap myself in my white terry robe. I light some candles, more for the psychological benefit than for any real warmth. There are flannel sheets on the bed. It is a good time to turn on some poetic Eddas, drink hot drinks (or cold beer) and try to stay toasty and not go anywhere for a few weeks.  My inner Bear (apart from my inner Viking) would rather hibernate, going to bed early and not getting up much.

Today I gave Someone a Boxing Day gift of dried cherries and some cherry based salsa. In honor of the day I wore flannel boxers.

Good night now. It’s time to crawl into bed and fall asleep listening to Snorri Sturluson.

*A better metaphor would be it is freezing.

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