Transformers had apt questions for the current reigning oligarchs.

At the property, the front porch was a sheet of thick slick sheet ice from water expelled by the heat pump. Oscar used the strongest of his stick collection to chip away at it.

Grim and wet winter day, but the river was lovely. I like seeing how its course shifts over time, its banks moving and changing. I bathed here as a baby before we had plumbing.

I posted this yesterday on my FB account and got pushback from people I used to work with when I was teaching abroad. One is middle aged white Canadian in Mexico and the other American in Vietnam. Both read it as propaganda and told me I needed to read Orwell and Chomsky. I don't know how to reply.

Aside from putting in a 9 hour work day, I made a nice boule of bread.🫓🥖

Snow day spent in cold back room, working for 9 hours without break to reschedule all the students whose accommodated exams were cancelled due to the campus closures. This is what I saw of it, through the window.

The snowing has begun. I'm making Chili and Pumpkin soup for the week. Child wants to go to Dogman matinée in an hour, which is walkable. I don't want to go outside.

I made ugly bread. I tried a new method (new to me) where you pour 100ml boiling water onto 100g of flour and let the scalded paste sit up to 12 hours to think about what it needs to do, before adding it to a bread recipe. It's really nice. Adds soft pillowy texture.

Dusting of snow.

The projected snowfall failed to materialise both yesterday and today. It's just cold and grey. I'm staying in bed, reading all the bad news, with only fairy lights on and a cat on my feet. I don't want to do anything.

Rereading at the worst possible time, as it all feels way too plausible and doable. The artwork in this graphic adaptation is gorgeous and brutal.

One of my ongoing projects this year involves abstract glass mosaics, using both tempered glass salvaged from old sliding doors found propped up against trees in the forest and the panes of fragile glass that I pulled from my parents' collapsing greenhouse. I paint the underside. This is a box.

I made bread today. It has a curious form.

I've spent a lot of time over the past week trying to figure out how to mess with my textured acrylic medium, realising that I may be colour deaf, like tone deaf. I use colours because I like them, not because they belong together. I know colour theory but can't seem to make it work.

I got a curious pot of acrylic medium for Christmas that is textured, like kosher salt. It dries clear. I'm slathering it on wantonly, trying to figure out what I need to do with it. It goes on thick and white like school glue full of shattered tempered glass.

The rainiest Christmas ever, nonstop grim and inclement wetness, with ALL the fairy lights in the house on, and then some. Roasting veggies, boiling ham in fragrant stock, and listening to a Christmas mix that includes dub reggae and punk and 1940s. Santa and the reindeer at everything.

Happy Festivus from Christmas Cakey.