Well, the Solstice yesterday was a bit of a bust. Eowyn was recovering from a stomach bug. I accidentally gave Beowulf food poisoning when I tried making him a special lunch to take to work. Eowyn and I went to visit a friend and spent an hour or so with her at a coffee shop and wandering around the community she lives in, which is basically condos on top of an outdoor mall, so it’s a confusing maze. Then we drove home in rush hour traffic as it was getting dark. My plans to make bulle, a family tradition, just didn’t happen, and Beowulf and I tried to convince Eowyn to go to bed early because we were tired.
I did make a halfhearted attempt at lighting the candles on my altar, and I did do some reading in The Spiral Dance that got me past the chapter I’d been stuck on (trance states, not really my thing at the moment), but most of the Yule stuff just didn’t happen.
Today, well, dinner was actual dinner instead of toast. Beowulf and I tried the infused brandy I’d made. It’s reminiscent of Jaegermeister, thanks to the star anise, and is pleasant when warmed or when mixed with cola. I wrote a letter to a friend, and Eowyn and I went for a walk out in the slush this afternoon.
It’s still been a day of laundry and dishes and feeling not particularly productive, but better than yesterday. Beowulf is feeling better; Eowyn’s still not quite over her bug but is on the way there; and my Harry Potter underpants, which arrived in the mail the other day, are a definite mood-lifter.
We’re at the dark time of the year, and there’s something about it that always resonates with me, but it’s hard to quantify. Maybe it’s that sense that we’re working our way through, sometimes badly, sometimes not so badly, towards the light.