The problem with writing and editing as soon as you open your eyes is that you sometimes completely change the meaning of the sentences you try to correct for style. Yesterday I drank tea and worked on the first felted tea cozy. I did not drink a felt cozy. I also made banana bread and sorted out tree lights and began putting away sculptures that will be replaced by Christmasy stuff. And I shoveled heavy sludgy snow.
That didn't leave me a lot of time to do more than marvel at the political situation ... but imagine ... we are going to have proportional representation ... real democracy at last. I rather wish we had chosen it in a referendum rather than having it come in by the back door ... but under a Conservative government led by Stephen Harper, that wouldn't have happened.
But back to the mundane ... I am discovering that planning a cozy, like planning a slipper, is a major problem solving exercise for someone who is spatially challenged. I have to think, cut, try on, then think and think and think some more. I spent much of yesterday looking at the deep turquoise cozy and trying to figure out how to fit it on the tea pot. Then I tried to cut out a felt gold fish for it. It looked like a spiky blob. I tried on a felt heart. Then I decided the cozy needed a felted liner. If I used the heart instead of the gold fish, the liner and stitching could be a dark red. Once I had made that decision I discovered that I had lovely felted pompoms from the same felted sweater source. And the cozy which I had been trying unsuccessfully to put on a round fat pot actually fit properly on my tin tea pot which originated in India. It is the one I use every morning and it has to have a cozy of some kind because the tin conducts the heat to my hand so that it is impossible to pour without burning myself. It has been wearing an old hat for the last year.
So ... today my plans are to bake bread, wrap gifts, work on that cozy, finish shoveling, and check to make sure I can get the car out tomorrow. Leonard was here with his plow last night after I had gone to bed. Because of the hour I couldn't move the car for him to clear that area. Every time that happens I have to dig myself out. It is bad enough to have to walk over 1/4 kilometre to get to the car but when you have to carry a shovel with you to dig out as well, the idea of a trip loses its appeal.
By the end of the winter I will have perfected all systems and will have appropriate shovels and sand at all stations and will keep an extra sled up where I park.
At the Christmas reunion last week, a man I didn't really know while we worked together said his wife would never consent to live anywhere that didn't have a basement, a garage, and no work connected with it. He couldn't even imagine her living as I do. He had tried to introduce her to the idea of living in one of the condos on the river at the edge of the village and she was horrified by the primitiveness.
Tomorrow I want to go to town to make sure I have enough lights and food for the weekend's fun. If Pat and that gang come as well, we will have a contest. Everyone will go out to find the four trees and bring them back. Then people will be put in three teams and will either pick rooms out of a hat or choose rooms. Their challenge will be to create a Christmas tree that fits thematically into the the setting. Then we will all tackle the bathroom tree. I have found all kinds of lovely beads and possible ornamentation as well as things to set under their trees ... all from my usual Christmas tree ... moose ... mice ... a Mongolian ger and boots ... rocking horses ... even a teddy riding a tricycle.
Well, now, on with my day!