December 2007

So the mayhem is underway. The heart-stopping explosions out of nowhere started yesterday … incredibly startling at first, but quick to become commonplace. I’m talking firecrackers and fireworks being exploded beneath people’s windows and in other inappropriate places. If any of you foreigners visiting our fair isle and reading this are wondering why there are not a single trash can in sight and all the outdoor mailboxes are barricaded - that’s why. Measures have been taken.

Yes, dear readers, fireworks are sold freely to the general public up here in the days between Christmas and New Year’s, although FORTUNATELY there is an age limit of 18 years so of course there is NO WAY for underaged kids to get their hands on them, just as there is NO WAY for them to get their hands on any liquor for New Year’s Eve. Meaning that those explosions are almost all generated by adults with their full wits about them [heheh - yah right].

Meanwhile, this e-zine has listed Reykjavic [sic] as one of the ten best places in the world to spend New Year’s Eve, right up there with Vegas and downtown Greensboro [?]. Far be it from me to contest this claim, although personally I would have put Reykjavík at number 1 because it hosts, without question, the most superexcellent New Year’s Eve party in all the world - the entire city, all of it. However, I must confess I was slightly taken aback by the editor’s description of our antics up here on New Year’s Eve, to wit:

… the locals celebrate by welcoming tourists into their homes, serving them steaming drink, lighting bonfires and prancing around in elf and faerie costumes. Just like in Lord of the Rings! As a bonus, if the night is clear you’ll see the splendor of the Northern Lights as midnight strikes.

First of all, I have to wonder what sort of shit his sources were smokin’ because … elves and faeries? Okay. And, you know, personally I’ve never known anyone to fling open their doors to tourists to welcome them into their homes to serve them hot drinks … but then maybe I’m just hanging around with the wrong people. Third, there is not a fricking hope in hell that you’ll see the northern lights at midnight on New Year’s Eve because a) the skies are absolutely FILLED with exploding fireworks and b) the spaces in between are absolutely FILLED with billowing clouds of smoke from exploding fireworks.

But hey - far be it from me to detract anyone from getting dressed up Just like in Lord of the Rings! but I’m willing to bet that anyone who does will be a tourist who has been reading YES Weekly and thinks this is the way we do it up here. Come to think of it, I hope lots and lots of people do, because, you know, wouldn’t that be hilarious? Hordes of tourists all dressed up like elves and faeries, sniffing around the locals’ front doors, desperate to be let in for some steaming drink? Bring it on!

MEANWHILE, WE MAY NOT SEE ANY FIREWORKS AT ALL
Because they’re forecasting horrific weather for New Year’s Eve, meaning all our brennur may be cancelled and people will be advised to stay indoors and absolutely NOT to fire off any rockets that may unwittingly end up inside people’s coats or pants legs or nostrils. A bad storm is supposed to come through tomorrow and is supposed to persist on the 31st. Which will be a major drag … the only good thing I can think of that may come out of it is that my dear stepdaughter who has been here for Christmas and who is supposed to fly back to New York tomorrow will have her flight cancelled and thus will be able to spend New Year’s with us. We Shall See. Actually the same sort of weather happened a couple of years ago and all the brennur were moved to New Year’s Day, which just wasn’t the same. But, whaddaryagonnado. The temps have been inching upwards all day and are now 2°C [36F], sunrise was at 11.22 am and sunset at 3.37 pm.

PS actually to be fair there is old folklore that elves and fairies appear on the Þrettándinn - Twelfth Night, January 6th. There are brennur [bonfires] held on that night also, and in some parts of the country people dress up like the king and queen of the elves and make an appearance at the brennur - for the kids, much like Santa Claus.

Old Quentin Tarantino’s back. Spending New Year’s here again. No doubt he’ll have another go at getting a supermodel home before she passes out or vomits all over him. Although after his stellar turn on Conan O’Brien the last time, I’m hoping Icelandic women have enough self-respect to give the guy a wide berth - very wide - and to leave his sorry ass there to pass out all by himself.

AND WHILE I’M RANTING
Went to a movie this evening [Golden Compass] and discovered to my great dismay that Háskólabíó, the very last cinema in this town to have decent seating, has gone and installed those horrendously uncomfortable bucket seats that everybody else has. I’m talking about those supposedly “superior comfort reclining seats” that don’t actually recline and that are designed for people around 175 cm tall [EPI’s height] leaving people around 163 cm tall [YT’s height] all scrunched down in the seat with their head pushed forward by the “head rest” [aka the “head torment device”]. Which means that people my height have to arch their back and neck if they plan to watch the movie and not just the back of the seat in front [which I’m sure is very entertaining but maybe not quite worth what they’re charging]. Plus for those of us who suffer from whiplash injuries [probably about half the Nicelandic nation, the way they drive here] it’s an absolute killer. I mean, what the hell were they thinking? Don’t they realize that a vast majority of the population is NOT over 175 cm tall? And that short people like going to the movies, too? And now they can’t go to a single movie house without being supremely uncomfortable for the whole movie? Maybe I should start my own cinema. A cinema for short people, in which people over 175 cm tall would be forced to install a device on their seats that would push their heads forward so they’d have to look at the floor the whole time, unless they contorted themselves into a position so painful they’d run out of the cinema yelping within 15 minutes. And by the front door would be YT, rubbing her hands together in glee and shouting after them HOW DO YOU LIKE THEM APPLES, SUCKER!?!

WEATHER: FREEZING COLD
Killer wind today but died down as the frost intensified. Right now we have -6°C [21F] and sunrise was at 11.23, sunset 3.34 pm. Meh.

I feel vaguely guilty. I’d planned to send out a very ceremonious MERRY CHRIMBOS! type of post to all my lovely readers, but instead I’ve hardly gone near the computer for the past four or five days and it’s felt really good. So - a belated happy Christmas, and I hope your Yule was everything you hoped it would be.

Actually, it’s hard to believe that only four days have passed since my last post. It feels much longer, which of course is the thing about Christmas - you lose all track of time, or at least I do. I can never remember which day it is or how many days have passed or where exactly in the universe I am positioned, that sort of thing.

It’s been a great few days, very eventful, filled with joy and love and friendship, and happily a fair bit of LAZY. There’s also been time for reflection, which is good. Earlier today EPI and I were talking about Christmases past, the Christmases of our childhoods, and he was asking me something about how some tradition or other had been in my household. And I had to remind him once again of our differences, which is that EPI had a “household” while growing up, while YT did not. Meaning that EPI had stable childhood and upbringing, a solid family unit, strong traditions at Christmas, etcetera, whereas my Christmases were all very, um, diverse. They were held in various countries, in various households, with various people. I’ve even spent Christmas alone a couple of times. And, if the truth be told, more often than not I was miserable at Christmas [and not on the ones I spent alone - not at all]. The Christmases I spent with my mother and her husband, for instance, in their icy cold suburban house, getting presents that were the cheapest they could possibly get away with, were absolutely soul-crushing. Just as an example.

So I developed a serious aversion to Christmas, and by the time I entered adulthood I basically put all my emotions on ice in December and just plowed through, hoping it would soon be over. But then, surprisingly, a few years ago my Christmases started to get better, and in the past few years they have been wonderful. A lot of that is about having a loving partner to share them with, and being accepted and incorporated into a strong family unit, which has been amazing for me, not to mention enlightening. Also, letting go of expectations has helped a lot. A couple of years ago I woke up to the fact that I’d let go of expectations about how things were supposed to be, and so I stopped being disappointed and disillusioned when things didn’t turn out the way I wanted them to.* What freedom! Now I focus on enjoying things as they come and I only seem to have good experiences. I can’t decide whether it was like that in the past too and I just didn’t see it, or whether it’s because I’m generally much happier and so am attracting happier experiences. Not that it matters.

And now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to watch yet another episode of Grey’s Anatomy on DVD and relish the fact that I’m my own boss and I’ve given myself the day off tomorrow.

WE’VE HAD THE MOST PERFECT YULETIDE WEATHER
It started to snow on the 23rd and it’s stayed gloriously, magnificently white. I wish you could see how beautiful the city is with the fresh snow and the Yule decorations everywhere [of course some of you know just what I’m talking about]. Right now -1°C [30F] and the sun came up at 11.23, set at 15.33.

* Incidentally, I don’t want to give the impression that this just happened automatically. There was a lot of work involved. But somehow I didn’t expect that the rewards would be so great.

Poor AAH: just when the pressure is on, all her Christmas prezzies still to be bought, and she’s scheduled to work back-to-back shifts, she comes down with a case of food poisoning.

She believes a certain Ceasar salad is to blame, eaten at a certain cafe where she works. The day yesterday was alternately spent puking and screaming at the top of her lungs at the pain in her stomach; I wonder what the neighbours think. Probably that she was in labour, because that is about the only thing with which I can equate those screams. Well, that and having her fingernails pulled out slowly with pliers.

Today was slightly better, although she’s still walking around hunched over like an old crone. Nonetheless, she managed to surface from her predicament long enough to tell me a joke [what a trouper!]:

These three guys are at the pearly gates, waiting to be admitted into heaven. Saint Peter tells them that, because it’s Christmas, they have to have something on them relating to Christmas before he can admit them in.

So the first guy pulls out his lighter, and says, “This lighter represents the light of Christmas.”

St. Peter says, “OK, you’re in.”

The second guy pulls out his keys and says, “These keys jingle like jingle bells.”

St. Peter says, “OK, you’re in.”

The third guy pulls out a pair of women’s panties, and says, “These are Carol’s.”

GORGEOUS DAY, CALM AND COOL
We had some hail this afternoon, enough to turn the ground white. Headed downtown today and everyone was in the Yuletide spirit. Ah, it’s nice. Temps right now are -1°C [30F] and sunrise was at 11.22, sunset at 3.30 pm.

Today I spent a full ten minutes in my local fish shop and when I got home I was forced to put every item of clothing I was wearing in the washing machine. Reason? Putrid skate day is coming up, and they had a handsome selection of raw pieces already in stock.

Dear readers, this blog has not been very heavy on the Yule lately, and those of you who have been reading alongtime may be asking yourselves where all the posts about the Yule Lads and Grýla and the Yule Cat are, whilst secretly wondering whether our YT is making only a halfhearted attempt at getting her Yule on this year. To which the answer is, not to worry, we’re getting our Yule on as usual, only when you’ve blogged about those crafty Yule Lads for three years in a row you get a wee bit weary because, let’s face it, there’s only so much that you can say about them, especially when you don’t have little kids any more that totally believe that there’s a new Yule Lad that comes down from the mountains every night and deposits a little gift in their shoe, not to mention writes them letters in Old English font.

In three more days it will be Christmas up here [we celebrate on the 24th] and, as a matter of fact, our particular Christmas starts a day early, on the 23rd, because that’s when YT celebrates her birthday, so everything has to be done before then. The more astute amongst you may recall that YT’s birthday happens to coincide with putrid skate day, and that for the last few years YT and EPI have been invited to a rancid skate party at EPI’s brother and sister-in-law’s place. Only they had the nerve to move to Selfoss earlier this year [boo!] so there shall be no rancid skate party this year. And before you ask, no, I’m certainly not going to throw one at our place because when you throw a rancid skate party every last object in the house becomes permeated with the smell which can only be described as a cross between ammonia and cat piss. Multiplied by about 1010. Right before the holiest of all holy days. I may be crazy, but I’m not insane.

OK. Let’s see. We’ve already done the Yule buffet, we’ve been to The Virgin, we’ve been to the Yule party at my father’s place for all the kids and grandkids. I’ve bought all the Christmas prezzies that I need to buy [I may have to assist EPI and AAH a bit tomorrow and the next day], and today we went out and did most of the grocery shopping for Christmas dinner and my birthday. Plus last night EPI and I went out and bought our Christmas tree from the charity in support of children with cancer. It’s sitting out on the balcony as we speak, because the tradition here is that the tree doesn’t go up until the 23rd [in our case the 22nd, for reasons above]. The only thing I haven’t done is bought myself any Yule Cat insurance [unless a pair of nylons count] because, quite frankly, I can’t be bothered to go out and buy myself a new Christmas dress when I have a perfectly good one that I bought last year and which I’ve only used, like, twice since then.

OK, the truth is I’ve developed a sudden fierce allergy to shopping malls and fitting rooms. The other day I went to Kringlan for the first time in months and within 20 minutes felt like I’d had all the lifeblood sucked out of me and was ready to crawl beneath the nearest clothing rack in a foetal position and just lie there until I was beamed up to the nearest Galactic spaceship. I took it as a sign to get the hell out of there, and to not go back until the hordes have left. Besides, the rampant consumerism makes me ill, as I alluded to in a previous post. I’ve never felt it quite this strongly before, but I certainly do now, and I’m sure it has something to do with some rather eye-opening, and perhaps even life-changing, experiences I’ve had recently [more on that later, perhaps].

I think I’ll leave you with a little story that I heard from my half-sister the other day. She has two boys [and a wee baby girl] and the younger of the boys [who is three] is just getting his head around the whole Yule Lad concept. However, he hadn’t quite figured out what it means when you get a potato in your shoe [it means you’ve been bad and it’s a Very Serious Matter] and when the first Yule Lad arrived this year, both he and his brother got a potato because they’d been naughty the previous day. However, he happens to like potatoes, so he came running out to his mom, all excited, and asked: “Can you help me peel it?” [D’oh!]

IT’S BEEN OVERCAST AND WERY WERY DARK TODAY
So believe me, I was grateful for my HappyLight™, which was on duty the entire time I spent at home. Although, to be honest, I’m not perfectly sure whether it’s making a difference, or if it’s all in my head. I mean, I think I have fewer SAD symptoms, but I’m still pretty tired and stuff, and it’s hard to get up in the mornings [although it might help if I went to bed at a decent hour, and not at, say, 2 am]. I’m not depressed or anything, though, and my concentration is back up to speed, so … maybe. maybe. Currently 8°C [46F], the sun came up at 11.21 and went down at 3.29 pm. Winter solstice tomorrow! Huzzah!

Just a quick postie to say that US Homeland Security has issued a statement expressing their regret at the treatment Erla Ósk Arnarsdóttir had to endure last week. They also claim they’re going to review their working procedures for people who arrive in the US and who face deportation, with the purpose of making improvements.

YT the cynic says yeah yeah, we’ll believe it when we see it. On the other hand, they’ve admitted they made a mistake, and admit outright that the treatment she received was far beyond what was warranted in that particular instance [understatement of the year]. So - score two points for that.

Mokay! No weather tonight because I’m wasted and need … bed. More soon.

I’ve just watched an unbelievably absorbing and powerful documentary entitled Afghanistan Unveiled, which reveals how life has changed for women in the five years since their so-called ‘liberation’ from Taliban rule.

Surely there are few places on earth where the circumstances of women are as dire as in Afghanistan today. There are so many war brides, and no social security system in place, so with the breadwinner gone women are forced to beg on the streets, enduring scorn and humiliation from the men who pass by. The reason for their poverty is never considered - they’re seen as a virtual object, an object of shame. The reporter donned a burka and went out begging with a woman she’d met on the street, and we - the viewers - saw the world through the mesh on the veil, including the derision by the males who gathered all around. Frightening.

Herat, the most prosperous town in Afghanistan, has an alarmingly high rate of suicide by Afghan women who set themselves on fire to escape horrific domestic situations. Of course not all are successful - meaning they’re horribly disfigured for life. One girl the documentary featured was twelve and was sold into marriage at the age of seven. She ended up burning herself from the waist down.

Afghanistan has the second highest infant mortality rate in the world. The reason? A woman needs the written permission of her husband and her mother-in-law to go to the hospital. Even to give birth. Very often they arrive at the hospital strapped to a ladder that someone is carrying, hemorraging severely from a ruptured uterus. They don’t even have the power over their own bodies to decide when or if they need to go to the hospital. Obviously many women die in childbirth - and there’s an unspoken rule that those who do are never spoken of in the town again. It’s as if they never existed. And because they’re not spoken of, it’s as if the problem doesn’t exist, and it keeps perpetuating.

When Afghanistan was liberated from Taliban rule and democracy was to be introduced, the West poured millions of dollars into rebuilding the country. That money seems to have vanished. There was an incredibly inspiring scene from a girl’s school, which showed young girls running around outdoors, playing, laughing … exactly how it should be [of course girls’ schools were banned under the Taliban]. Only - the documentary didn’t show much learning going on because there aren’t enough classrooms in which to teach the girls. There are half-built buildings all over the place, and no money to complete them - despite the fact that the aid money was earmarked for projects like that. So the girls have to be taught in shifts.

One of the most heartwarming scenes was from a village in the remotest part of the country, the mountainous north, which was previously a Taliban stronghold. [Site of those infamous mountains where Bin Laden was - is - supposed to be hiding out.] The reporter was surprised to find a school in a tiny village, which taught not only boys AND girls, but also deaf-dumb students, using sign language. The lesson we, the viewers, got to see was about Afghanistan, about the abundance of the land, the quality of the fruit and vegetables, and how the children should respect their country. Afterwards, the girls all grouped around the reporter, clearly in awe. They then invited her to accompany them to their home - and the whole entourage set off, with two little girls holding the hands of the journalist [they were probably around 7-9 years old]. As they walked, the journalist remarked, in English, that she wasn’t sure if she’d be let in to their homes, as the community was insular and not very open to strangers. However - much to her surprise, she found that there were no parents. These children were orphaned and lived by themselves. Their home was immaculate, and they were so open and joyous. They had dreams for the future - they wanted to get an education, and then work in the village, make a contribution. It was beautiful. Such a lust for life, even when they had so very little.

This documentary made a deep impression [can you tell?] - perhaps best measured by the fact that, immediately after it was over, a TV ad for a new Hagkaup department store came on, where to the soundtrack of some sappy chirpy song we were accosted by the lavishness of the available commodities. All those shiny-happy people wallowing in their over-indulgence made me feel really ill. I am all for prosperity and abundance, but sometimes the greed and avarice in this society really freaks me out. Particularly when I’ve just watched how the other half lives.

AND WE HAVE ANOTHER STORM ON
Calm yesterday, stormy today. A familiar pattern, no? Severe gusts of wind right now and buckets of rain coming down. Looks like we’re in for a green [or red, as we say here] Christmas. Currently 10°C [50F] - sunrise was at 11.18 and sunset at 15.29.

Christmas in Iceland is all about tradition, and for EPI and YT there quite simply is no freaking Christmas unless we get our Yule Platter at The Virgin.

In fact, this conviction has passed repeatedly through my panicked mind over the past two weeks, having been told that The Virgin was all booked up every day and every evening until Christmas and there was not a hope in hell that we’d be able to get a table unless something major happened, like a massive fricking storm that would drive everyone off the streets and into the malls. Which is exactly what happened last Friday. Whew.

The Virgin is the English translation of Jómfrúin, which is the name of a restaurant in downtwn Reykjavík and also a euphemism for ‘Danish woman who makes open-faced sandwiches’. Those open faced sandwiches are called smørrebrod and are traditionally Danish. In Denmark they have been elevated to a high art, so much that it takes years to be educated as a smørrebrod-maker, and those who actually graduate in the art of smørrebrod-making can officially call themselves jómfrú which in English translates into ‘virgin’ or, more specifically, ‘female virgin’.

Anyway, the owner of Jómfrúin is a man, and not just any man but actually the first member of the male gender to actually graduate as a jómfrú [geddit? He’s not actually a female, yet he’s a jómfrú]. And – predictably – the restaurant specializes in smørrebrod, a scrumptious selection of which they serve every day of the year [but only until 6 pm because true smørrebrod places are never open in the evenings]. During Advent, however, Jómfrúin completely departs from its regular programming and serves up a fantastic Yule Platter, featuring a selection of seven different tapas-sized dishes, plus a to-die-for dessert in the form of a rice and almond pudding served with cherry sauce [with real cherries] and whipped cream. YUM.

The Yule Platter consists of the following Danish delicacies [keep in mind that all this is of the highest quality, made from scratch by The Virgin himself, and absolutely delectable]: Pickled herring in a mustard sauce, crab tart with lobster tail, some sort of pickled chicken salad concoction, hot smoked duck breast, reindeer pâté, roast pork with rind and caramelized potatoes with brown sauce, and finally a slice of creamy gorgonzola with grapes, all served with pumpernickel bread and sliced baguette. Followed by the aforementioned dessert. Oh, and it doesn’t hurt to start the evening off with a shot of Aalborg Aquavit, served in an iced glass.

EPI and I chanced upon this hidden Advent treasure about six years ago when we were doing some Christmas shopping downtown and ambled into The Virgin on the way home because we didn’t feel like cooking. We were immediately bowled over and made a vow there and then to do the Yule Platter thing every single year, come hell or high water [like last Friday]. Something which we have judiciously adhered to ever since, sometimes alone, sometimes with friends. And clearly we’re not the only devotees because Yule Platter at The Virgin has become more popular year-on-year, witnessed by the fact that when I phoned to make a reservation at the beginning of December for, oh, around the 20^th or so, we were told that there was not a hope in hell of getting a table for the remainder of the Advent, unless there happened to be a last-minute cancellation, which was highly unlikely. Unless there was a tempest, that is.

WE HAD A BRIEF RESPITE YESTERDAY AND THEN – ANOTHER STORM
It’s getting so that you can set your watch by it … one day a storm, another day calm, next day storm, next day calm, and so on. Weatherman sez it’s because there was a huge low-pressure area that was broken up somehow en route to us, resulting in this chequered kind of weather. Whatever, all I know is that I went out for a walk today and there was not a dry thread on my entire body within ten minutes of walking out the door. I came back looking like a drowned rat. Then, this evening, EPI and I went out for a long walk around the golf course in relatively calm and absolute pitch darkness. Scary. It was a new experience for Yours Truly, and I remarked to EPI on the way that there were probably not many places in the world where you could walk outside like that in a remote area with not a light around, and still feel safe as houses. We’re in for some calm until tomorrow night, when we have another storm coming. Tsk. Still, we’re not getting barraged with snow like the northern US. It’s mild, in fact: 6°C [43F] and sunrise was at 11.17, sunset at 15.29.

So, the latest on the ordeal described in the previous post is that the Icelandic Minister for Foreign Affairs, who in my humble view is one of the most down-to-earth and unpretentious people in this country, and probably one of the least prone to intimidation by an unnamed superpower, summoned the US Ambassador to the Ministry and gave her an earful about the treatment Erla Ósk Arnardóttir was subjected to at JFK. The Ambassador gravely concurred and claims the matter is under investigation. To which our MFA responded that she expects US authorities to issue a formal apology to the woman in question, once that investigation is completed.

Incidentally, according to the US Embassy, Erla Ósk was treated the way she was because she was supposed to have a special visa, on account of having overstayed her welcome 12 years ago. Which the Embassy has not made a point of publicizing, even on their website, until - uh - now.

Apparently, since this matter became public, the MFA has received numerous calls from individuals who claim to have received the same sort of cantankerous welcome at JFK. Morgunblaðið has a short interview with another young woman who was deported on arrival at JFK last month [the interview doesn’t say what for]. She was traveling with her eight-year-old daughter, and according to the report, the border guard shouted at her repeatedly asking what she was doing in the US. Eventually they were taken into Homeland Security and made to sit there for five hours. She was not permitted a phone call and nobody told her what was going on or what her status was. Eventually she was informed that she was going to be deported in 20 hours, and she and her daughter were taken to a small, dirty room with no place to sleep and food remnants all over a chair that was there. During the night there were repeated disruptions and guards kept showing up to check on them. “Everybody was incredibly rude and hostile. I was photographed and my fingerprints were taken repeatedly, nobody spoke a kind word nor told us what was going to happen,” she says.

Hearing these sorts of stories seriously makes me question whether it’s worth it to subject myself to the risk of passing through border control in the US. I mean, it’s almost like it’s hit-and-miss. You may get hauled in, you may not. I don’t believe that I, personally, have done anything to warrant anything of this sort happening, but all the same I’m starting to wonder if there really needs to be anything substantial. Maybe it’s enough that the border control people don’t like the look of your face. I know exactly what she means when she talks about the harshness and hostility - when we passed through JFK in September we had to wait in line for about half an hour to get to an immigration officer, and there were several little fascists shouting at people to get into this line, or that. The energy in that place was incredibly hostile and unwelcoming, enough to completely set you on edge.

How very sad that it has to be this way, because - as has been pointed out repeatedly - the average American is a decent, friendly person, so very different from the antagonistic and belligerent people at the border. Maybe they could all just move to Europe or something, and leave the a**holes behind.

THERE’S BEEN A SEVERE STORM ALL DAY
And people have been advised to stay inside, hence YT is suffering from a serious bout of cabin fever. Elementary schools told parents to keep their children at home and police authorities issued a grave warning that people should not be out on the highways. We’ve had gusts of up to 40 m/s today [in case you don’t know, that’s a lot - 15-18 m/s is enough to give me pause about going outside for a run] and needless to say there’s been massive damage to property. It’s fairly mild, though, 5°C [41F], sunrise was at 11.14, sunset at 3.30 pm. Oh, and I think my SAD light is working! I don’t feel half as draggy-ass as I have for the past month or so.