(no subject)

[which_chick]

I am now officially tired of making sand tarts. Three batches is enough. I think I'm cured for a year, anyway. Moravian spice cookies, too. Done now. Am packaging up the cookies and handing them off to people so that I don't eat them all myself have to look at them anymore. Being handed a dozen cookies isn't much of an imposition, mind. They're very, very delightful cookies. Anyone out there want some? I've got lots.

Also, happy solstice. I'm pretty sure that the whole point of the winter solstice is to say the following important public service announcement: "COME BACK, MR. SUN!! We miss you!"

I *know* the solstice means the long night is over and they'll be getting shorter from here on out, but frankly January isn't much damn fun and February is the cruelest month. (That Eliot fellow was dead wrong.) February is cold and dark and bitter. It's unrelenting in its misery, a problem compounded by the fact that I'm TIRED of winter after January. I never look forward to February. From a non-astronomy-related perspective, things in these parts do not start to improve until March rolls around so all ya'll can solstice all you want, we've still got two solid months of shitty, dark, cold weather to get through.

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

Since I'm currently deep in snowbird winter-nesting territory, I find myself heavily exposed to the snowbird way of looking at things. These folks consider the day after Christmas to be the *beginning* of winter. The houses down here are creepily lit - block after block of automatic street-lights and garage-lamps fronting for empty, dark buildings. The snowbird sticks around for the family holidays, tolerating whatever bad weather might come, and then bolts south to her Florida home as soon as is socially acceptable, often as soon as the last Christmas bell is rung, while the echos are still lingering.

Mitch H.