Blessings be upon the head of Jteethy, who not only shovelled my car out of the snowbank it ended up in, but pushed us out when we needed a boost. (“Jeff push the car! He make it go!” was the narration from the back seat.)
It’s been one of those days where no matter how you try to beat the argh, it keeps ganging up on you.
It was lovely to see Paze and Tallis too. It would have been nicer if Sparky had let us all be in the same room for at least ten minutes at a time.
Gnash, gnash: I hate, hate, hate cover letters. Particularly ones that have to sell my writing.
Vetting of edits done at last, hallelujah. I’m ready to print the MS out and I’m stalling, because every time I’ve tried to print out a massive document over the past two years something has gone Horribly Awry. I’ll do it in twenty-page increments; that should stave off complete disaster.
I tried to put up a new curtain rod earlier today. One bracket was just fine. Doing the second one, the screwdriver slipped and drove into the little finger on my left hand. It is now swollen, stiff, turning lavender, and the bleeding gash has only just stopped seeping. Although I don’t use that finger to type, it’s making it awkward for the rest of the fingers on that hand to move.
I’m also testing out a new brining method for the holiday turkey on a chicken today. The kitchen smells delicious. I’m a fan of dry-brining, and I’m curious to see how the more traditional brining in a liquid solution works.
Thesecondcircle captures my feelings these days rather well:
Being this far North, we’re desperate for the solstice to come. The sun is setting so damned early. It’s charmingly pagan, but makes me just want to sleep and sleep.
Back to wibbling over my cover letter. My synopsis keeps turning into a hook.
Saturday: Santa.
“Did he cry?” Sandman7 asked when I saw him that night. “Yes,” I said, “when it was time to leave Santa’s lap.” (I suspect Sparky may not be quite clear on the telling Santa what you want in order for him to deliver it on Christmas Eve thing. It’s possible that he expected Santa to hand him a new train right there and then. The ball he got was appreciated, but it wasn’t a train.) Then he fell asleep in the car on the way home, and woke up when we tried to carry him in without waking him. And he didn’t nap at all, other than those five minutes.
Saturday evening I went out to dinner with not one but two fabulously talented, witty, and suave men. Sandman7, Talyesin and I went out for a special dinner at a local steakhouse and had a lovely, lovely meal with delicious wine. I have not had such a wonderful meal or night out in, er, longer than I can count.
Sunday: Tree.
Wait, no; first it was two hours of shovelling. Then we went out to get the tree. In the blizzard, yes, because if we didn’t do it Sunday morning, it wouldn’t get done. It was frigid. The boy had great fun trotting around the lot saying, “Ooh, look, Kissmas trees! Look at all the Kissmas trees! Look at them all!”, tears streaming from his eyes from the wind, his little button nose bright red. We put the tree inside the car to take it home, as tying it on top of the car would have made driving even more dangerous in the gusts of wind and lack of visibility due to blowing snow than it already was, and he held one of the branches all the way back. I remember that he did the same thing last year. (The tree-buying experience couldn’t be more different, however; last year we were looking at a green Christmas. This year, well, there’s a metre of snow in the backyard already, from fence to shining fence.)
We put the tree in the front entryway, and rearranged the living room. Then HRH shovelled for another two hours.
Then the damned stand broke when we tried to put the tree up, postponing the actual assembly of tree and decorating till some undetermined point later in the week. The tree was put on the back porch to collect piles of snow overnight.
Then HRH went out and shovelled for another two hours.
This morning the blizzard had passed and the sun rose and the world was white and sparkling and a sea of snowdrifts. HRH went out and shovelled for yet another two hours (I know, it’s repetitious, but so is the work), and all the neighbours banded together and helped one another uncover cars lost in snow drifts and to clear the piles of snow left by the ploughs. It’s so fabulous to see people actually helping one another instead of taking snow clearing for granted.
After dropping the boy off at his caregiver’s this morning, we bought a new snow shovel and tree stand to replace the broken ones (yes, bad things to have happen to one around blizzard time — and when HRH fought his way through the storm to arrive at the doors of Canadian Tire just as someone was coming up to close them yesterday, he was told he’d had eight hours to get what he needed and they weren’t letting him in. Was I not just expressing astonishment at the lack of civility among the retail workers this season?). The tree is now inside, in the new stand and the boughs are falling into place properly. I suppose we’ll decorate it tonight.
HRH is off doing a snow fence for someone today, and I’m finishing up the YA edits and printing it out, come what may.
ETA: Environment Canada says that we got 30 cm of snow yesterday, and that the record for December 16 is 41.2 cm. We’ve had 78 cm so far this month, and the record is 118.1 centimetres in 1972, so we’re two-thirds of the way there.
Proof I wrote this book five years ago before my own level of tech caught up with everyone else’s:
A character has cassettes in her glove compartment, and a youngish teenager refers to using a Walkman.
I have duly dragged the narrative into the twenty-first century. (Well, the latter bit of tech, anyway; the former stays because she’s already mentioned they’re dubs of CDs she has at home, and she drives a rusty old hatchback that pre-dates standard CD players.)
Not one — not one — of the clerks I dealt with today while shopping wished me some form of holiday joy. A couple of them didn’t even say hello or thank you or goodbye, or tell me the total I owed aloud.
Now, I’ve done my trenchwork in retail; I know how bone-wearying this time of year is. But this was a Friday morning, and it’s only mid-December. And I don’t care how tired you are, you talk to your customers. Pretend to smile, damn it. My trenchwork allows me to sympathize, but it also allows me to disapprove of how you aren’t holding up your end of the clerk/client relationship.
I wished every single one of them a good holiday season, as sincerely as I could. One of them looked up at me in astonishment, a tremulous smile appearing on her face. “Thank you,” she said, “thank you so much. And you, too.” And she’s the one that I have the most sympathy for, because the client ahead of me was giving her a hard time and she was having trouble recovering. I was polite to everyone, I made eye contact, I smiled, I was as warm as possible, because this is a thankless time of year. But I really, really hate not being met halfway by sales staff, particularly when I’m not the one being paid to make the experience a pleasant one.
Then I came home and wanted to get my ergonomic chair up from the basement, which I couldn’t do because there’s an immoveable trunk in front of it downstairs and it’s wedged in behind it, hooked under something. And none of the lights work down there for some reason.
And, of course, no cheque in the mailbox.
Also, despite the snow last night, I did not see a single snow removal vehicle anywhere on the slippery roads today.
So yay! I am cranky again!
I did remember to buy antihistamines, and multivitamins, and intensive skin lotion, and Q-tips. I also got my ink cartridge refilled. And I bought vitamin C as well, because HRH brings all sorts of fun little colds home from school.
Now, to finish vetting the Track Changes in the last third of the YA manuscript, and print the bloody thing out.
I am amused by the silliness, and also by the curious appropriateness (propriety?) of the things a-whatevering.
owldaughter sent to me…
Four used bookstores! Singing Brontes! Writing soundtracks! Why am I giving these things away?
Except that last, of course. I do that with pleasure.
I am currently in on a Yule-Associated Secret. Whee!
I am finally feeling somewhat seasonal, thanks to this.