We were in Romania for Christmas. The promise of heavy snow, ski holidays, snowball fights didn’t happen, to Laura’s frustration. The promise of a relaxing holiday, long and interrupted sleep nights didn’t happen, to my frustration. But Santa came, which is great, and we ate like pigs, which isn’t.
Now we are back to reality. The cold weather has finally arrived (the promise of heavy snow and ski holidays in Romania were for the New Year’s holidays; we got that wrong); our house was freezing yesterday night when we arrived and it was still quite cold when I left it this morning.
I’m working these three days before New Year, which is not amazing, but I’m not complaining. I’m a bit numb to complain much. Plus it’s too close to the New Year to start complaining of anything.
I’m not a Christmas person, but I’m one of these people that get overly excited about New Year, about the possibility of a new beginning (despite doing all the same over the years), about getting empty pages in the diary to plan the year ahead. Lists; new lists! New plans! New newness! The only thing I can’t get my head around, after 9 years, is New Year in winter. That is weird; it will always be. Weird and boring. But it’s New Year and time to make plans (for a summer celebration in the New Year!).