On Christmas morning I allowed myself the
option of sleeping in but I only got up slightly later than usual. I did my
yoga a lot more slowly than normal and during song practice I left out about
half of my regular routine. I finished learning to play my translation of
Jacques Brel’s “Le Moribond” and I’m looking forward to my next Brel project:
his powerful tribute to “Amsterdam”.
I
made bacon and eggs for breakfast and watched the fourth episode of the latest
season of Doctor Who, which was a continuation of the previous episode. One of
the characters was a woman that only speaks in deaf sign language. People die.
Time travel is used to save the day.
I
uploaded to YouTube a video of some running shoes dancing to the wind.
I
made stuffing and put it inside of the turkey I got from the foodbank. I put
the bird in the oven and took a nap. I turned the oven down and took a bike
ride toward the full moon. Traffic was light but Yonge and Dundas was crowded
and a guy was playing “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause” on the saxophone. It
was also crowded around Nathan Philips Square. Aren’t all people and places
named “Nathan” squares? I couldn’t tell if people were skating there or not.
From Spadina on there were three middle-aged punks on bicycles, going in the
same direction as me, and chatting as they went. Only one of them had a flasher
and they ignored red lights, which is how they kept passing me. One of them had
to stop when he was running a red at Ossington and a car coming south blared
its horn.
When
I got home, my turkey was done. I had some of it with mashed potatoes, gravy,
stuffing, cranberry sauce and a glass of Creemore. The turkey turned out great,
though there isn’t really much one can do to ruin a turkey unless one
undercooks it, overcooks it or ruins it in some other way.
I
watched the fifth episode of the latest season of Doctor Who. It was sort of
like a high tech Magnificent Seven, but with Vikings. The Doctor said,
“Premonition is just remembering in reverse.”
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