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Monday, December 22, 2003: Pink Ribbons
At two-thirty today I looked west and saw the first pink ribbons of sunset. But five, it was dark. Thank goodness that yesterday was the shortest day of the year; it's all downhill from here. I can hardly believe that just five months ago it was daylight until nine, and we were in and out of the house in minutes. The seasons continue to surprise me, although I've lived in Canada for nineteen of my twenty-eight years. It was quite mild today; it went up to six degrees. But it was grey, and this evening it rained. Not so Christmassy. They're predicting flurries for Christmas Day, but maybe they are just being optimistic. My mission for today was to clean, fold and put away all the laundry. For a week or two the laundry has been getting the best of me -- I'd wash and dry and then it would languish, wrinkling, in the laundry basket until I was forced to fold it because I needed the laundry basket to hold the next batch out of the dryer. Today was to be the day that all that ended, and with Blake's help, it has; he folded the final two loads. Hurray for Blake! My other mission was to grocery shop for Christmas dinner, and that I did as well. I got milk, eggs, brussels sprouts, radishes, sweet potatoes, regular potatoes, lettuce. Oh, and a Toblerone. Tomorrow Blake's getting the piece de resistance, a beef roast, from the St Lawrence Market. As a special bonus, I also made broccoli soup with some slightly limp broccoli I found in the vegetable drawer. It came out kind of salty, but good. Guess what else? Delphine is asleep, right now, in our bed. By herself! I had to sit with her for about fifteen minutes to get her to settle down, but then I snuck away, and now Blake and I are in the TV room all by ourselves. It's uncanny. I've noticed that I don't really have enough to say to be writing an entry every day. The problem is exacerbated by the fact that I write in the evenings, when I'm not at my intellectual best. I'm not mustering any deep thoughts. I do have the occasional interesting thought, but they never seem to survive past dinner. I'll keep writing though, because of that solemn vow thing. I think it would be cool, too, to do this every year and have a record of Christmasses past. So, uh, thanks for reading, if anyone still is. |