A Winter Tradition, Part I: Where to Lay Sigyn’s Beautiful Head

For the past several years, Sigyn and I have made it a point to get out town between Yule and the New Year. We like to get away from all of the post-Yule bargain-hunting-retail frenzy, the sad sight of now obsolete Yule trees lying on the curb, and the human female’s constant moaning about how much she ate (and ate, and ate).

Last year and the year before, we had very good luck just taking off and going. We found great little places to stay, fun things to eat, and some kitschy little boutiques. We are taking off today for our annual jaunt, and I hope things go as well this time.


I’m not usually one to admit it when I make a mistake, but I have to confess that I sort of dropped the ball this year. I should have made reservations, but serendipity has always been part of the fun, and I didn’t think I needed to. I failed to predict that hordes of plague-weary travelers would all have the same idea that Sigyn and I did. No one seems to have any rooms!

First we checked the little retro cottages we so enjoyed last year.

“All full up. You should call ahead next year.”

We tried the big, fancy ski lodge near Tahoe.

“Sorry, mate. We sold out back in August.”

Well, now what, my love? There has to be something available. What? Are you sure? All right, we’ll give that a try. That does seem to be one of the few parts of Midgard experiencing anything like actual winter weather at the moment.

Shall I teleport us? No? Sigh. Sometimes Sigyn declines to make the best use of my godly powers. It is going to be a long, long trip, but if my beloved wants to spend the next day staring out a bus window and sleeping sitting up, then that is what we will do

(much too much later)

Great Frigga’s Corset! I have never been happier to leave a conveyance in my life. I don’t care what my beloved says, we are teleporting home when this adventure is done. My royal posterior will not tolerate a single mile more on a bumpy bus seat.

Now, the brochure says the cabin should be along this boulevard and around the corner. I still question the wisdom of a beach holiday in the Pacific Northwest in late December, but I never could say no to Sigyn.

Ah, here it is. Number 17. I must admit, it’s kind of cute.

Sitting on the beach in a cape and helmet would not have been my first choice, but if I’m going to do it, better here in Vancouver than back in Texas, where it is 80o F.

And I can stand anything, even beverages with umbrellas, if it makes my sweetie happy.

It had better be full of rum, though.

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