Every year the human female tortures all of her friends and relations with a long, boring Yule letter, tortures herself composing the letter and writing a personal note in all of cards, and tortures the human male with her ditherings about finding addresses and getting things signed, stamped, and mailed. For two or three evenings running, the living room (or wherever she’s perching) turns into Yule Card Central.
She ordered her cards online this year. I made sure one box was back-ordered and delayed about four weeks, but it finally arrived just as she was about to start.
She’s mid-task now. Some of the envelopes have a bit of ursine artwork.
I fail to see what polar bears have to do with the solstice, the birth of a god, or anything except portions of Midgard north of 66°30′ N, but I’ve long since given up trying to make sense out of this crazy realm.
Sigyn approves of the stamps with the pretty lady and the baby…
…and is equally entranced by the black and white bears on the return address labels. More bears? I tell you, it makes NO sense!
Great Frigga’s Hairpins! The human female appears to have finished writing the cards (though I will bet any amount you like she has forgotten someone and will have to scramble to do a few more at the last minute). She has reached the bottom of one of the boxes of cards and discovered one of my little Yule mischiefs.
You know how fancy boxes of cards come with an extra envelope, in case one makes a mistake with the address?
I made sure this box has one envelope too few! Ehehehehe! Now she has to choose between going through her stash of envelopes to see if she has one that fits, taking the time to create an envelope out of blank paper, OR go against her innate miserliness and throw away a card that can’t be mailed. See? I told you–torture!