Christmas passed. It’s over for another year. Thank God.
Di, Regina, Donna, Erik and I walked our dogs in the morning in light rain, and then I came home to finish watching Vanity Fair on CBC Gem and then the first several episodes of Bridgerton on Netflix. Both are set in the same period and awesome period pieces. The sets and costumes in both were absolutely delicious and, of course, the acting is excellent. Both shows exemplify my favourite form of entertainment.
Donna and Paula both gave me presents of home baking. I had to face my addiction: I devoured it all, but hey, it was Christmas and I’m not fat anymore. Now I have slight Boxing Day regret.
This morning, I arose late—at five-thirty—fed the cats and went outside to fetch wood with which to build a fire, and surprise: It was warm and windy. I hope we don’t get a power failure due to the strong wind. But we’re clearly enjoying a Pineapple Express wind from the south-west blowing warm moist air from Hawaii. Sheba and I will enjoy a long walk as soon as the sun comes up.
I don’t dislike the holiday but, as I say, I’m really glad it’s over. A lingering element of disappointment about the disfunction of our family is recalled but not mourned each Christmas.
Soon the New Year celebration will be past, too, and we’ll be in 2021 and on our way to Spring. I’m still waiting for more books to arrive that were ordered weeks and weeks ago. They are my plan for getting through the rest of Winter. Every cell in my body awaits the buds, sunshine and warmer temperatures of Spring and all the hope and joy they bring.
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