Monday morning, Myrna and I suited up and took a stroll around the neighborhood, with the stated goal of finding some ducks. This past month, we'd tried to do this a number of times, and failed. Virtually all water in Stockholm having thickened to concrete slabs of ice, the nearest duck community has been pushed an additional block from our building, where they must swim in perpetual circles to keep the water in motion and unfrozen. That added distance, combined with the cold, the icy pavement, and Myrna's intolerance for snow on the toes of her boots has ended previous duck hunts at about the halfway mark, Myrna carried home in tears, whimpering "cold" at pathetic intervals.
But this time, as you can see, we made it. The ducks are doing well, but it looks like a rough business protecting their home and food supply from the elements. We saluted them, and then went on to check out the Christmas trees. All the courtyards to the (staggering number of) apartment buildings in this area feature their own holiday trees, and they're looking quite lovely under nature's glaze.
We also tried to go to the playground but, uh...
And then something rather surprising happened. Myrna quite deliberately led me back towards home, then right past our apartment and past the Nativity scene in the chapel window to... yup, the Konditori, pushing open the door and waltzing in like she ran the place. Which is kind of funny, because we'd only been twice before. So, okay, we bought a bulle. Myrna carted it home, hugging the bag, and shouting "treat!" and "home!" all the way back to our place.
There was some discussion of saving a bit for Mom. But that didn't pan out.