It’s the new year ! Ordinarily we would post a picture of the fireworks, either on the last day in December or the first of January. Unfortunately the cloud cover made viewing the fireworks from our balcony impossible. It was too late and too cold for us to trek to the canal where they originate (call us cowards), so we simply took this picture of the clock tower, the only visible marking from our balcony of the event.
If you want to leave reading this at this point, I wouldn’t blame you. We did no traveling this month and like a majority of the globe, we were smarting from the cold. As a result the rest of this month is ‘blah, blah, blah’. Feel free to leave now.
New Year’s Eve, we toasted with a bottle of wine, a baguette and charcuterie platter while playing French Scrabble. At the end of the game, we were good and snockered and G had soundly beat me. We were neck n’ neck on the score until he pulled his last two words, amounting to over 30 points each. My ship went down in spectacular flames. The wine helped ease the pain. And yes, we are aware that the word Trop needs an ‘e’ on the end.
The first week, we dismantled all of the holiday decorations and stored them for the year. The last of the holiday baking treasures were distributed to a grateful few that thrive on sugar. Our own holiday stash was depleted, then we did the shopping that fortified the pantry and freezer with our regular Mediterranean regime. G roasted a wonderful, marinated & herbed turkey leg (apologies for no after photo but we got hungry). Sucks to be an adult, where you worry about healthy consumption versus the kid who has infinite amounts of energy and no clue about dental cavities or healthy organ function. Yeah, that was when you could mete out your stocking chocolate to stretch it until Valentine’s day – or not, eating it ALL in a week.
Like I said, this is blah blah blah month. They closed up the Christmas Market rides and the street decorations. As the cold, grey skies and cold drizzle that sometimes turned into snow, continued it’s winter march, I worked on mundane home projects (cleaning, caulking small things, gluing other small things, clearing out files, catching up on correspondence and setting doctor check ups), as well as starting a couple of kits G gave me for Christmas.
He had decided that because I was a puzzle person, I would enjoy miniature 3D kits and he gave me two very small ones. VERY small ones with a lot of teeny, tiny details. I’m OCD so I can’t NOT try to finish these, which works to my disadvantage. Any sane person would regift them to a second hand store or chuck them in the bin. No, I decide to plow ahead, investing hours on an activity that I told a friend was akin to sorting Quinoa grains with tweezers. The first kit was made out of cardboard, which made the little pieces very fragile, not only in separating them out of the boards they were pressed into but in addition, prone to breaking when pressing the pieces into foundation board. There was a LOT of gluing before it was completed and some words I’d not used in many years came flying out of my mouth like a Pez dispenser. Finished with it, my next question was – what does one do with a completed model? Everyone who knows me, knows I don’t like clutter and I don’t dust as often as I should. I saluted my perseverance before doing what any sane person would do in the same circumstances – I chucked it in the bin.
I started the second kit, which I was convinced after the first three days, was conceived by siblings of the first kit, only being on crack. Let anyone chime in who has to assemble a teeny, tiny flower arrangement in a teeny, tiny vase, using tweezers to thread separate wires up from the bottom and then glue individual flowers at the end of each stem, argue with me. At this point, I told G that it was a good thing I loved him or homicide would definitely be considered. My OCD will not let this Satan-inspired concoction rest. So I again plowed forward, knowing when finished, it too will end up in the bin. By month end, I’d come to the conclusion that although homicide had been tabled, offing myself was not. OCD or not – I was not going to see this to completion with my sanity intact. Having not gotten far (photo included), my original assessment of this kit has not altered. It is for the miniscule detailed model kit-oriented individuals. OCD not required. Bin in sight, kit on its way.
Lastly, that has left the ‘Let’s Grow Mushrooms’ kit. Having to order the seeds after opening the kit, not getting them and ordering them again, then gathering cardboard, slicing it in thin pieces, measuring that, then gathering coffee grounds, measuring, adding both to what looks like saw dust (which was provided). Well, it took so long to gather the amount of coffee grounds needed that they began to mold. SO, that meant putting off the project, while gathering the required coffee grounds again – only this time keeping them in the freezer until I get the amount needed. I don’t know that I have any patience left after the first two kits to give a clear review of this one. I’ve yet to get everything together, then we will have to wait for the ‘magic’ stuff to happen. In the meantime, I’m going down to the corner produce store and BUYING the fricking mushrooms. IF this kit produces any, I’ll enjoy them before TOSSING IT IN THE BIN. Are you spotting a theme here? Sadly I’ve run out of my holiday chocolates to console myself. Time to grab the gin and tonic.
Are you still with me? Well then, that’s on you. You were warned. Blah, blah, blah.
What I did instead of the gin, was order a new pair of Haflinger clogs. Let me explain first. I originally saw these in a freshly printed 1978 book ‘Bed and Bath’ by Terence Conran. In the thick historic narrative on the subject, chock full of glossy, seductive photos, I was drawn to one cropped shot of the back heels of a woman on a wooden ladder against shelving stacked with colorful, folded blankets. I can still remember it clearly today, looking at this warm, cosy picture while at the time, Denver’s then current snow storm had closed most streets. She sported thick homey socks in a pair of clogs, which I’d never had. In a different picture was a young woman, who was wearing a pair of wool clogs that I’d never seen. I wanted that warmth and comfort. I was never a cold weather lover despite having lived in snow areas half my life (Yes, don’t bother – I’ve skied, cross countried, ice skated, tobogganed, tubed even ice camped) and that one picture exuded such comfort, I was determined to own a pair of clogs like them – well, because surely that would make the winters not seem so long. I think I found them in the following few years (the internet not made public until 1983) and we were living in a construction zone – that being a 100 year-old Victorian house we bought (our first house) thinking boldly that we could renovate it quickly. And it dragged on for over ten years. We now refer to it as ‘The Money Pit’. So, in yet another winter, another street-closing snow storm, I believe I bought a dark blue pair of these clogs online, which was quite a decadent expenditure for us at the time. And thick warm socks that one would see in children’s picture book stories like Raymond Briggs or Dr. Seuss. It did make the winters better and that pair lasted almost fifteen years, maybe 20 years. I had worn them out completely by the time we moved to France so I didn’t bring them. I bought a second, grey-colored pair in 2019 when I realized how much I missed them and this pair I wore every day, since they just plain made me so happy, our budget being more forgiving versus back then.
So back to dealing with the three kits (and again, no sweets in the cupboard), I discovered one evening that my beloved Haflinger clogs were completely worn through in the wool portion, in several places and losing the edged ribbons. I ordered and received (which soothed my kit-induced mania) what will most likely be my last pair of clogs. As strictly indoor shoes, they should last me another 10 or 15 years and at 70, I’m thinking that will pretty much do the job. After having consumed my healthy oatmeal breakfast – making me feel somewhat, yet undeservedly, sanctimonious, I look down at my feet this morning, adorned again in thick Dr. Seuss-type socks, shod in new, pristine black wool clogs. I smile. The weather outside is literally freezing, the skies grey and the pavement is slick with moisture and a SAD lamp is sitting on the table at the ready, but I don’t care. I am transported back in time, before creaking joints or concern of cavities, and I feel like one lucky kid. And I don’t really need the sweets. ..but let’s be honest. I wouldn’t turn them down.
That’s all there is for this month folks. No great travel, hunkering down a great deal. Stay safe and warm, wherever you are. You can thank G for the great shot of the oatmeal while my back was turned. He was bored too this month – no travel, no photos.
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