Happy Christmas

Badly Followed Patterns

The making for Christmas is well underway; though, I'd intended to be finished before 1st December. With nine days or so before the big event, I am finding myself running out of time quickly. I've completely missed the send by date to the States, so the nieces and nephews won't be getting their gifts until at least January. Believe it or not it isn't the insanity that surrounds gift-giving that I hate about Christmas. I love giving gifts. I like that we're all reminded to give during, at least, this season of the year. Of course I'm avoiding Bath proper like the plague this year. You could call that painting the lenses of my glasses rose.

This year I've found myself in the strange situation of having to insist to people that I really do have plans for Christmas. It wouldn't be beyond me to assure people that I had plans for the day in order to spend the day on my couch watching films. So I can see how friends are reasonably convinced that that is my intention for this year too. As for boxing day, I may well spend that checking to see how my knee feels about going up hills.

Now back to the crocheting. Does anyone know what I did with the button? or the 3.75 hook?

Winter, Again, Apparently

Bath is never ugly. Even on days when it is tipping with rain and the temperature has dropped well below freezing, Bath remains the second most beautiful place I have ever lived.

A few of you asked what I meant by the alternate version of "We Three Kings." I so wanted to provide you with a video, but it seems that few people have been inclined toward recording it. And as much as I like you all, I'm not singing to you.

We three kings of Orient are trying to smoke a rubber cigar

It was loaded, it exploded

We two kings of Orient are Trying to smoke a rubber cigar. 

It was loaded, it exploded/I one king of Orient am Tring to smoke a rubber cigar

Silent night, holy night

All is calm, All is bright.

Bah Humbug, Again?

Right, so folks who are better at this Christmas gig than I am are:

Zosia from Polonica: Home Again made an Advent Calendar that would make me dance more than teeny tiny candy canes.


And  Belle from A Belle Abroad has some seriously exciting news to go along with her Christmas preparations in her new country.

The Christmas tree has arrived in Auvergne, France.

Robynne from Robynne's Nest has been wandering around under London's lights. Oooh and Giant Red Barn!


And Annie at Sew Graceful has been making mittens.

And there are still a few days left to see The Nutcracker in Fairbanks, with Cindy.

Smoking on a Rubber Cigar: Teeny Tiny Candy Canes!

That is A1 steak sauce, in England!

Maybe one of the reasons I'm feel less bah-humbug about the holidays this year is that I spend some time near this display every week. It doesn't really seem like enough reason to be singing the version of "We Three Kings" that involves a rubber cigar, but it is certainly helping. They also do Sweet Potato Fries with maple syrup. So, you know, a place with a full English and the best bits of America all at once. And yes, those are Bread and Butter Pickles. Yum, Bread and Butter Pickles. So, you know, go eat Here*. And pick up some Jolly Ranchers for your in-laws.

A friend swears this is the best ever sandwich

*As it turns out, this is not a sponsored post. The owners of the cafe have been extraordinarily good to me this year. But even they think my can't concentrate on anything else, look teeny tiny candy canes, excitement may be a bit over the top.** Of course if any of you want to sponsor my incredible spiced gumdrop habit or my Twizzlers habit or my Fritos habit or my Ez Cheese habit, I'll joyfully share with you. Unless it's Ez Cheese. Then I won't share at all.

**Should I talk about my general frustration with blind requests for sponsored links? Or should I just hurry up and finish talking about religion?***

***Did you see the teeny tiny candy canes?

Naturally forty-eight degrees Fahrenheit

14.5 tog duvet over fleece blanket.

It was 9 degrees C yesterday. That would be almost 50 degrees F. The heat did not get turned on. I went to bed with my hot-water bottle on Wednesday night and found it thrown across the room on Thursday morning. This is a good thing, really. Afterall my duvet over my fleece blanket over me is far better than watching the gas meter tick by. And I am so glad we are not having the cold winter than was predicted. At this time last year, we had the heat on five hours a day (with both of us working 30-50 hours) and were still sitting on the couches trying to remain warm under several layers of blankets and clothing. 

And so it is true--I had wondered in my heavy heart as I left Alaska six years ago--it is true that there comes a time, when as much as the far North draws me toward it, that I realize that I could not live through another arctic winter. The trappings of that life are now largely gone. I no longer have a heavy parka. My winter shoes met with the recycling bin a year or two ago. My gloves are still in nearly new condition. It's simply too warm here to wear them for more than a few minutes. The knit in my fleece hat is coming apart now, and I simply can't imagine a place so cold that an afternoon walk alone will not warm my feet. 

I'll whinge at the cold at work this afternoon as I pile the wood high into the fireplace. This despite my total gratitude for the warmth of my current sanctuary in England.