Christmas countdown: 20 days left

And yet, even in those Arctic conditions, you can find reasons to laugh out loud. Like for example this story about a woman in Kent, who called the police to inform that someone had stolen a snowman from outside her house. Which she said she noticed when she had gone outside "for a fag".

With my friend we're preparing presents for the classmates of our daughters, and I can't help thinking that I made a mistake the moment I entered the teacher-parent association. Wouldn't that be nicer to pay in a small amount of money and not to care anymore who will take care of organizing the Santa Claus' Day at school? So we need to organize one last thing: a "wrapping meeting" - which means meet and wrap up the presents that the other parents will feel free to criticise.

Christmas countdown: 21 days left

The journey to the pharmacy is like a pilgrimage through the desert of snow. I'm astounded how this short distance of about 300 meters changes in different seasons. In summer it's a short walk, long enough to take a break or find inspiration for a short blog post, but short enough not to get exhausted.

But not today. It's the end of the day, almost 7 p.m. I'm really amazed by this winter landscape, by this abundance of snow everywhere - to begin with the snow banks over the cars that people parked a couple of days ago and so they stay, and to finish with the streets, along which the cars are moving shakily, like modern amphibians. My shoes are wet inside, and those -10 degrees, in general, make my heart sink. Just like the whole municipal road service - I wasn't ready for winter.

PS. I had to change the headings to match the idea of countdown, which I realized only today - what a shame.

Christmas countdown: 22 days left

It's freezing cold. I'm freezing. Last year I said goodbye to my faux sheepskin coat before shutting the wardrobe's door forever, at least for that particular item of clothing which made me look like an old-age pensioner, a ball with four short limbs, or like Paddington Brown in winter. So I'm wearing my Coco Chanel-like (Id' like to believe) salt-and-pepper flimsy overcoat and I wonder, what price I am going to pay for the sake of fashionable (hopefully) looks. Pneumonia?

The frost is -9, my Firefox toolbar kindly reports, but "it feels like -17". My son, even in his thick snowsuit, refuses to go out, but still, we have to go and believe me, today we're closer than ever to the Arctic Circle. I know, the Emperor Penguins are far braver, they can stand even minus forty something (degrees Centigrade, not Fahrenheit!). I quickly organize self-help in those unfavourable conditions: my staple diet is fat cheese, herrings, chocolate and hot coffee. Towards the end of winter I'll surely be as slim as Claudia Schiffer in her prime.

In those survival conditions, when all I'd like to do is glue myself to the radiator, I take a break from work to look through some books that might make nice Christmas gifts. They are very good books, insightful, interesting, all "must-have"s. Then I realize these are actually the books I myself would like to find under the Christmas tree. Oops.

faux = artificial
in one's prime = at one's best age

Christmas countdown: 23 days left

When I'm driving my son to his sensomotoric rehabilitation lesson, I skid and swerve on the snowplough forgotten streets. But the journey past the Szczytnicki Park is a feast for the eyes: the old thick fir trees, planted by Germans when they used to live here before WW2, with their heavy snow caps make it all look like Narnia, or some other fairy-tale setting.

Later, as I'm pushing my trolley around the shopping mall and searching for products to be exchanged for a gift voucher that expires today, I'm trying to picture some Christmas presents for all the kids in the family. Not to mention the adults. This year I have virtually no ideas, except for the suspension bridge for a woodem railway that my son has asked Santa Claus so expressly for. The rest is vague, which nicely matches my ignorance of my relatives' dreams and wishes. The more I dig into the shelves, the more obscure those visions become. Some shapes are slowly emerging from the alarming emptiness in my head and I wonder if that process will ever reach the speed necessary to make it before the Christmas Eve. I'm not panicking, ok?

let it snow, let it snow, let it snow...

November passed in the blink of the eye, it seems, although it was tough; days went by to the rythm of the plagues of Egypt, with the kids falling ill from all sorts of viruses - and I'll spare you details.

I somehow cannot keep up with the pace of the changing seasons; I opted for fixing the golden and red leaves to the branches permanently, but no, everything is gone, and what we're getting outisde the window is the monochromatic blend of black and grey, and from today on - white. Only in the shopping malls can you get the blinding extravaganza of colours, unfortunately in the form of the utter kitch of Christmas decor. Thank God I have children, they are so happy about the snow that I have no choice but to share their enthusiasm, while contemplating if we have enough warm caps, scarfs and most importantly - gloves. And also, I participate in their joy of writing to Santa Claus, even though I have to schedule somehow buying the items they describe.

And in Wales they had the coldest night in the last 89 years, with the temperature plunging to -18. Maybe it's not so bbad here, after all:)