The Darkest Evening of the Year

My little horse must think it queer,
To stop without a farmhouse near,
Between the woods and frozen lake,
The darkest evening of the year.

(from "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening," by Robert Frost)

The lake between the Downs and Tamrannoch had frozen over. Though we could see water flowing beneath the surface, Uncle Roland tested the ice and found it strong enough to bear his weight.


"How have you been, Rhianon?" Roland Luminos asked. It was an innocuous-sounding question, and said in an even tone, but I knew what he meant.

"Kathy has been talking again, hasn't she?" He made no reply. I continued, "I am trying to keep the beast at bay, but it has been difficult. Yesterday was the celebration at South End, and I tried to go - I even made it so far as the town, up to the Ferris wheel, but I could go no further. Even having Kathy along to provide moral support was not enough for me to brave the crowds." My agoraphobia came and went. Yesterday it was back in full force. "I simply had to leave."

"It appeared to be a good crowd," said Kathy. I took a trip on the wheel and could see everyone from there: the Vicerene, and Mr. Despres and Mr. Miles, the Nachts, the Jaegermeister,..."

"Exactly my point," I said.

"I know, I know. I'll give you points for trying."

We put up the steampunk Christmas tree outside, on the deck, but it was too cold to stay there to admire it.



Moving inside, we sat around the fire, Roland, Kathy, and me, sipping hot beverages as the wind whipped through the gables. Perhaps not yet the shortest day of the year, but the day was certainly not long, and the fading light cast long shadows outside. "It's a long way back home from here," I observed.

Kathy looked at me sharply. "Home? This is home now. We may not have family here besides you and me - and now you, Roland, of course - but this is it. This is all we have."

I smiled. "You are correct, of course. Certain times of the year make me think of what we left behind. I know that we didn't really leave anything important behind."

Roland lifted his glass. "To my two young friends." I sipped and sat back in my chair. I could give in to melancholy, or I could fight it. I chose to fight. It may be the darkest evening of the year outside, but not here.

Chain Stores Come to Victorian Times

Visiting South End this afternoon, I saw another Steelbucks Coffee. The franchise is proliferating like...well, you know.

Brigadoon

Looking through the file of pictures, I unearthed this shot from July 8, when a sighting of the mysterious and elusive village of Brigadoon brought the curous to see - and to dance.

Shortly thereafter, the village disappeared once again into the dimension that it occupies most of the year...waiting for the right time to return.

A Note on Human Psychology and Marketing

I sat eating Fig Newtons this afternoon and reflected: these cookies taste as though they should be good for you, but are surely just as fattening as any other cookie. Isn't that backward? Shouldn't the marketing folks be selling me a cookie that tastes fattening but is really good for me? The diet cola people at least have the right idea, even if they fall short in execution. I'm guessing the light beer people are aiming at that concept, too, although my limited experience with light beer is that it's both horrible tasting and contains three-quarters of the calories of an actual beer, thereby missing the mark from both directions.

I'd like to claim that this observation has something to do with Caledon, but I'm coming up empty. Ah well.

The Wit and Whimsy of Fauve

Having mentioned the Principality of Fauve, I thought I would be remiss in not showing some pictures. The builds, by Miss Aeon and Mr. Enigma, are filled with humor and whimsy. On the ground, there is a unicorn:


The main build - the shop and tea room - are high above ground level. It bears viewing from a distance:

Inside the shop, one sees the doll factory in operation:

I was amused by the lollipop tree:

Of course, I could not resist a sweet in the tea room:

Advertising

I don't know why this didn't really register with me before, but when I saw Dr. Mason's wagon again, advertising "Fortune Telling," "Sleight of Hand," "& Surgery," I did worry a bit about which service one would be getting. Am I being stitched up, or is it merely sleight of hand?

Ah well, far be it for me to tell a professional how to advertise his business! (And Dr. Mason, should you be reading this, remember that we tease because we love. Please do not turn me into a slimy creature, or send me far into the future (particularly the year 2008!))

Additions to the Realm

Zeppelinheim is the latest member of the Realm of the Roses, and is connected physically to Caledon, appearing just to the east of Dundee.


As I understand it, the land is run by Miss (Governess? Grand Pooh-bah? Well, titles were never my strong suit) Charlene Trudeau, and has provided a welcome haven for some of the denizens of Brythony.

Although one can never have too many zeppelins - well, as long as said zeppelins are on one's own side, and not that of one's enemies - the land contains quaint shops and houses decorated for the season.

I would be remiss in not mentioning the Caledonian Crown Colony of Magellan, run by Mr. Mako Magellan, and the Principality of Fauve, run by Miss Fauve Aeon. It would seem cheeky to welcome Miss Trudeau, Mr. Magellan, and Miss Aeon to the Realm of the Roses, as they have all been long-standing members of the community. Rather, let me wish success to each of them in their endeavours.

A Steampunk Christmas

Others have mentioned it, but I needed to memorialize Mr. Iason Hassanov and Miss Autopilotpatty Poppy's Steampunk Christmas display at the Dark Dragon Gallery in Morgaine.

Various people have contributed, including Mr. Hassanov, Miss Lavendar Beaumont, Miss Riven Homewood, Miss Eladrienne Lavel, Mr. Hotspur O'Toole, and Mr. Jorge Serapis.

A Christmas tree and gifts, along with 11 pipers piping:

Angels:

The Star of Bethlehem:

The Nativity scene, complete with steampunk-y story:

The Christmas rhinoceros. I was absent from church that day, but it is no doubt an important part of the nativity story.

'Tis Also the Season for Birthdays

My typist celebrated another birthday yesterday, if indeed one can celebrate at such an age. Perhaps what one is celebrating is cheating the Grim Reaper one more year.

A lovely day Saturday spent in Baltimore, first at the Walters Art Museum (and the "Bedazzled" exhibit - several thousand years of jewelry!), then sipping whisky (Birds of a Feather, in the Fells Point neighborhood), then an excellent dinner (Charleston). Fat and happy. Hard to complain.

Santa's Day Job

Continuing this week's theme of signs of the season, and combining it with the observation that the economy appears to be going through something of a rough spot, here is a distressing sign: Santa needs a day job. He found one at Steamperk, in the Steampunk Resource Centre, in Caledon Downs. Fortunately, he seems to have retained his jolly nature:


After seeing that picture, Kathy was reminded of one of the first pictures she ever took. (She begs forgiveness for the poor quality of the shot, but she was still learning the equipment.) No doubt distressing small children everywhere, she proudly gives you photographic evidence that Santa, far from being fallible, can make serious mistakes in trying to land. If Christmas presents seemed a little light last year, this is why: