California was very hot for about half of my first week back and now, today, I'm freezing. It's good to be back: For the record, I vastly prefer Racine's Phaedre to Hippolytus (by Euripides). I remember reading Hippolytus freshman year and being irritated at pretty much all of the characters--not so with Phaedre. I watched L4yer Cake last night (we had a pretty sweet set-up in the car) & enjoyed it, though I think Snatch is still my favorite Guy Ritchie movie. L4yer Cake wasn't as humorous as Snatch (though, to be fair, it wasn't intended to be funny). We had some rain the night before last (last night we had an impromptu fire drill due to burnt popcorn), but other than it's been blissfully sunny. I am, however, still waiting for the floods. I hope they're not hoarding their wrath, biding their time, waiting to burst out with a spectular display of mudslides and wrecked roads.

Paradise Lost: done.
Laundry: done (finally).
Packing: well, I've started.
3,000 miles & change to go, goodbye vacation, hello second semester!

(please God, no massive road-collapsing, student-stranding flooding like there was last there at this time)

(by the way, I would like to direct your attention--whoever still reads this--to some of the new links on my sidebar, specifically tinymixtapes, the bruni digest, & toothpaste for dinner. because they're amusing.)

There's a noreaster coming through. I'm sitting in bed with Paradise Lost & a mug of hot cider, listening to Puccini. Luckily my room is a well-stocked haven in storms such as these, and it's ever so pleasant to sit & watch the wind drive the snow sideways while I'm warm and dry. Snowglobes--I'm reminded of a very snug snowglobe.

(while I'm at it)

"And chiefly Thou O Spirit, that dost prefer
Before all Temples th'upright heart and pure,
Instruct me, for Thou know'st; Thou from the first
Wast present, and with mighty wings outspread
Dove-like sat'st brooding on the vast Abyss
And mad'st it pregnant: What in me is dark
Illumine, what is low raise and support..."

--Paradise Lost,Milton

It began snowing yesterday afternoon and continued until about 11 pm last night. Big, fat snowflakes swirling noiselessly. Inside, we feasted (for about the billionth time this Christmas vacation) on roast beef with red wine and mushrooms, shrimp, creamed spinach, maple syrup-glazed carrots, roasted potatoes with garlic and a bunch of champagne. Oh, and chocolate fondue for dessert, too. There was a fire in the fireplace, children everywhere (the family we had over for dinner has five children, too, bringing the grand total of people in the house to fifteen, plus one dog and three cats), and much good cheer. Took a walk in the snow with H. and M. at 11 pm to rescue more champagne from M.'s house, so we could toast at midnight. It was so cold our faces hurt, and completely silent. Not a single car could be seen or heard--the roads were too slippery. And the sky was that very faint shade of pink that it turns when it snows at night. We didn't end up making a toast at midnight, because by then we were already half asleep, but the walk was nice anyway.

Happy New Year! Today is also the feast of the Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God. (This feast is the octave of Christmas.)

"Mary, the all-holy ever-virgin Mother of God, is the masterwork of the mission of the Son and the Spirit in the fullness of time. For the first time in the plan of salvation and because his Spirit had prepared her, the Father found the dwelling place where his Son and his Spirit could dwell among men. In this sense the Church's Tradition has often read the most beautiful texts on wisdom in relation to Mary. Mary is acclaimed and represented in the liturgy as the "Seat of Wisdom."
-- Catechism of the Catholic Church 721

Below is an excerpt (in the spirit of today's feast) from what Hans Urs von Balthasar called Gerard Manley Hopkin's "sacramental poetry":

"I say that we are wound  
With mercy round and round  
As if with air: the same  
Is Mary, more by name.  
She, wild web, wondrous robe,  
Mantles the guilty globe,  
Since God has let dispense   
Her prayers his providence:  
Nay, more than almoner,  
The sweet alms’ self is her  
And men are meant to share  
Her life as life does air."   

--excerpted from the poem The Blessed Virgin Mary Compared to the Air We Breathe, by Gerard Manley Hopkins, S.J.

We had family friends over for dinner last night. I spent a while holding a small, chubby two year old on my lap and feeding him chocolate ice cream. He kept trying to grab the spoon from me and feed himself, but he couldn't quite figure out which direction to hold it in. So then he stuck his face in the bowl, got a huge mouthful of ice cream and gave himself brain-freeze. He's a hilarious little thing, with fat, kissable cheeks. And he can't talk yet so he just wanders around to different adults, holding his arms up and looking mournfully up at them, as if to say: "Don't you know I want to be held right now?".