Christmas Letter 2012

This year started with our slightly belated honeymoon to Madeira, a Portuguese island off the coast of Casablanca, in January. We spent two weeks in the balmy 20C/68F sunshine, hiking around gardens and along cliffs (Madeira doesn’t exactly have beaches), reading by the pool and generally being schmoopy. Chris talks about retiring there, sooner rather than later, or at the very least returning time after time and drinking fortified wine amongst the flowers. We returned to the news that my father, John, had fallen ill while on holiday in Mexico and had to be airlifted to a hospital in San Diego where he slipped into a coma and died on February 9th. I flew out to Sacramento and spent three weeks with my mother, Dee, helping her sort through his belongings and get everything organized. Chris came out for the funeral in early March and we flew back together. In May we learned that I am pregnant and I spent most of the next two months in bed, nauseous and feeling sorry for myself. We observed our first anniversary, June 26th, back at Atholl Palace Hotel in Pitlochry, where they’d upgraded our room and provided a complimentary bottle of champagne and exclaimed how they couldn’t believe it had been a year. Some friends had rented a lodge for the week so we got to hang out with them for a bit and finally had a chance to explore the local botanical garden. Mired in a particularly uninspiring summer weather-wise, Chris booked us a week’s holiday on the Greek island of Zakynthos for September/October. It turned out to be a less than ideal holiday for us: it unseasonably hot, the hotel was noisy, everyone smoked, and there wasn’t a lot to do except sit in the sea and befriend stray kittens, delightful though those two activities were. We did eventually figure out a routine that made us happy, but left the following day. We learned a lot about what we need in a holiday destination, ate well, and got to bob around in the Mediterranean, so it wasn’t a complete loss. Three friends came up from London to spend Thanksgiving with us and Chris’ father, Ted and we spent the weekend playing board games and eating leftovers. It turns out the same amount of food we normally make for ourselves will feed twice as many people, if only for two days. We are now in full-on baby-prep mode. We’re attending prenatal classes, have turned my rather underutilized office into a nursery, painting the walls, adding decals, and having blackout curtains installed. We have a bassinet for our room and a crib for when the baby outgrows it, and we’re starting to collect all of the little things one needs to keep a baby safe, clean, and warm. I’m due 18 January and my mother will be flying out for a month to meet her first grandchild. Wishing you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year, Chris & Jennifer

Things I don't have the energy to expound upon

A blog post of mine from last November currently has the highest page views because of a footnote where I mention a halloween costume as seen on The Big Bang Theory that's adorable and, based on googling, doesn't exist. It seems lots of other people are googling for this costume as well and get my lament instead. Oops.

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My father is in hospital. There's a whole thing but I'm exhausted from my first day back at work after our honeymoon (4hrs and I'm dead on my feet - how did I used to do this 40hrs/week?) and I can't be arsed to rehash it all again. His condition is currently stable and the prognosis is optimistic. I'm soliciting well-wishes for him and especially for my mother but request that they not be wasted on me.

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My FiL's 88th birthday was Friday (my husband's birthday was Thursday) so we had him over for Sunday dinner. I made a beef mince shepherd's pie served with mashed carrots, and a treacle tart with ice cream for pudding. It was my first treacle tart, both making and eating and while it's not something I would go out of my way to eat, I can't seem to stop nibbling at it. Odd.

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My friend and I finally exchanged Christmas presents on Friday - I made a pair of mitts for her, acrylic as she's allergic to wool, and I hope to actually write up the pattern at some point. She gave me a 1930's-esk, peacock feather-esk locket in silver and emerald. It's not something I ever would have bought for myself, but it's lovely and I've worn it every day since. I am really picky about jewellery and tend to wear the same couple of pieces and hate everything else (or think it's "nice but not for me") and this makes two things she's given me that have gone into heavy rotation.

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I bought a pair of jeans and a cardigan, both on sale, with my own money. This whole having-a-job-and-being-able-to-buy-things thing is nice. Not that my husband begrudges me his money, but it's not the same. The cardigan is a short-sleeve, hooded, knit one with one tog at the neck and open the rest of the way. It's cute and a nice colour, but not, I think, something I'm likely to wear out of the house. It's acrylic so not overly warm (hence, cheap) and I really don't get the button just at the top and hanging open the rest of the way thing. I'm sure it's flattering for some people but I'm not them and it feels like it's the only style sweater currently being made - both store-bought and patterns. This is right up there with "skinny jeans".

Posting in my dreams

I often lie in bed at night, staring at the light peeking around the curtains*, thinking about the things I want to post. I compose essays on our daily life; the adventures of our kittens; thoughts on governments and politics; novels I've read and novels I would like to read; the weather (currently sunny! first sunshine all week!); things I am knitting and things I'm not knitting; wedding memories; cooking successes and disasters; having my FiL, Aged Parent, over for tea... I find the right phrases, the hook and development, draw pictures with words, and get very excited about the potential and realization. And then, because I don't want to get up and keep my husband from sleeping**, I fall asleep and those thoughts are at best dim shadows when I awake. That, in case you're curious, is why I don't post more.

One of my RSS feeds posted about hand cream for knitters, fast drying without residue, containing willow bark extract: topical pain reliever. At first I was excited - imagine if after a day of knitting socks on tiny needles and pulling my tension too tight my hands didn't ache for a week! Then reality came crashing in - questions about its effectiveness beyond mere placebo aside, do I really want something that would let me knit on oblivious to the pain? Pain is my body's way of saying, "don't do that! or at least, don't do so much of that!" I experience pain when my body is hurt, as a warning of damage. It's one thing to, after a day of knitting, take some ibuprofen and rest my hands on a hot water bottle and switch to a larger, looser project. It's another thing to push on, ignoring my body's cries, to do - what? Finish a pair of socks in days rather than weeks or months? Risk crippling my hands so that in five years or less I've done actual damage and, like a friend, have to crochet with a special hook attached to arm-bands? Thanks, I'll pass.

In other news, I finished my neck-warmer (note to self - take pictures and write a post) and have re-cast on Chris' socks as two-at-a-time, but I think my gauge loosened up again so I may have to frog them again and start over with fewer stitches - don't tell Chris!

In other, other news, my immigration appointment is Friday so we should get the last of that ready for our trip down to Glasgow. Wish me luck!

* around midnight. yeah. But it's starting to get dark-ish and I can believe that eventually it will get properly dark.

** he can't sleep unless he thinks I'm asleep