Monthly Archives: December 2007

Following Up

The liquid brine was a success, but in a very different way than the dry-brining is. I’m going to adjust the recipe for less sugar and more salt.

The tree has settled into shape, and it’s lovely and full and the branches are remarkably well-angled up and away from the floor. Even the weight of our ornaments won’t pull them down, I think. It’s still undecorated; HRH and I will start it tonight, barring unforeseen circumstances. The boy keeps asking if we can bring it with us when we go out.

Christmas is next Tuesday. Ack! Even more of a surprise: Solstice is this Saturday. Ack to the power of two! Where did December go?

Revenge of the Argh: In Which She Gnashes About Traffic

Feel free to move along; I’m whinging. Most local people were probably affected by these same problems.

Liam and I spent a total of six hours in the car yesterday, most of it not going very fast at all. The only time we spent at home was the forty-five minute wind-down to a two-hour nap.

We wanted the car yesterday so that we could go visit the Preston-LeBlancs, and HRH had a reno job out in west Kirkland. So we drove him out, then drove back through traffic into the city for our (now-brief by necessity) visit, then went home for the nap (2-4 PM). Then, at 4:20, we left to go pick HRH up. What should have taken twenty minutes took an hour and fifteen minutes. And then it took three hours to get home. We pulled off and had cheeseburgers at 6:00, and it was a good plan, too, because if we’d waited till we got home at 8:20 PM Liam would have been ballistic. As it was, a half-hour off the road in Harvey’s was a huge adventure for Liam, and fun for us too as we watched him enjoy his first eat-in burger experience. And this ludicrous travel time was clocked taking the Lakeshore to avoid the horrifying traffic on the eastbound 20 that was backed up to the Dorval Circle.

We were at a loss to explain the traffic everywhere, in all directions. There was snow falling, sure, but it was nothing compared to what had fallen before. There were no obvious accidents; the roads were mostly clear-ish of snow and all lanes were open. (Although looking it up in the news, there were a couple of accidents that affected the eastern parts of the highway system, which may have affected the volume of traffic further west.) We kept as calm as possible; there was no point in blowing up. But we were tired, and achy, and bored, and irritated, and there was a two and a half year old in the back seat who couldn’t understand that we couldn’t just “ready, set, GO!” when he commanded us to, or why there was no more milk, or no more crackers, or why he couldn’t get out of the seat to curl up with someone. We pretended it was a relaxed drive to look at the Christmas lights along the river.

So, the plan for Thursday has been redacted: Liam and I are staying home instead of shopping, because otherwise we’d have to drop HRH off again and there’s no way we’re battling theoretical traffic there and back twice. This means HRH and I have to shoehorn everything in on Friday morning after dropping the boy at his grandma’s, and before HRH goes to the office holiday party. We’ve reassigned the essential gift-buying so that everything comes from two stores, which simplifies matters somewhat. I have a couple of little things for Liam tucked away in my office cupboard for rainy days, so those will be his gifts; with the things he’s getting from grandparents he’ll never know we didn’t get him something more substantial. He’s still young enough that we can get away with it.

I received an e-mail from the accounting staffperson I spoke with yesterday, confirming that my cheque had been written and sent out this morning. That was pleasant news. Depending on the volume of holiday mail I may even get it Friday, or Monday. And today’s mail yielded a surprise cheque from my dear grandmother, as well as a little parcel for Liam.

I hate being this behind on gifts and general Christmas preparation. I like to be done weeks before the insanity hits.

Possibly Less Argh

And blessings be also upon the head of Rosy, who has talked me through a business problem. It’s nice when Accounting offers to call you to confirm that your cheque has been written and mailed out. I won’t get it before Christmas — not that it matters overmuch now, as it’s too late to use it for clearing the credit card in order to do the on-line shopping that needed to be done a week ago — but if all goes well I should at least have it in time for next month’s rent.

If there’s something I hate more than worrying about money, it’s worrying about money when both HRH and I are theoretically working — money I should already have, and don’t. It throws the budget way, way out of whack.

Argh

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.

Tea Break

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.

Kissmas: Gearing Up, Counting Down

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.

Amused

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.)