And those who can remember when the night sky was a tapestry
In the afternoon there was eggnog, in the evening there was roast beef, and after dinner with my parents and my husbands and ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nineweaving, there was plum pudding with an extremely suitable amount of brandy on fire.
At the end of a battering year, it was a small and a nice Christmas. There was thin frozen snow on the ground. In addition to the traditional and necessary socks and a joint gift withspatch of wooden kitchen utensils to replace our archaically cracked spoons, I seem to have ended up with a considerable stack of books including Robert Macfarlane's Ghostways: Two Journeys in Unquiet Places (2020), Monique Roffey's The Mermaid of Black Conch (2020), and the third edition of Oakes Plimpton's Robbins Farm Park, Arlington, Massachusetts: A Local History from the Revolutionary War to the Present (1995/2007) with addenda as late as 2014 pasted into the endpapers by hand, a partly oral history I'd had no idea anyone had ever conducted of a place I have known for sledding and star-watching and the setting off of model rockets since childhood. The moon was a ice-white crescent at 18 °F. After everything, as we were driving home, I saw the unmistakable flare of a shooting star to the northwest, a stray shot of the Ursids perhaps after all.
nineweaving, there was plum pudding with an extremely suitable amount of brandy on fire.
At the end of a battering year, it was a small and a nice Christmas. There was thin frozen snow on the ground. In addition to the traditional and necessary socks and a joint gift with
spatch of wooden kitchen utensils to replace our archaically cracked spoons, I seem to have ended up with a considerable stack of books including Robert Macfarlane's Ghostways: Two Journeys in Unquiet Places (2020), Monique Roffey's The Mermaid of Black Conch (2020), and the third edition of Oakes Plimpton's Robbins Farm Park, Arlington, Massachusetts: A Local History from the Revolutionary War to the Present (1995/2007) with addenda as late as 2014 pasted into the endpapers by hand, a partly oral history I'd had no idea anyone had ever conducted of a place I have known for sledding and star-watching and the setting off of model rockets since childhood. The moon was a ice-white crescent at 18 °F. After everything, as we were driving home, I saw the unmistakable flare of a shooting star to the northwest, a stray shot of the Ursids perhaps after all.
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Your holiday seems to have qualified as a Jólabókaflóð. Well done!
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And the alcohol burned off before the pudding itself caught, too, which is the other important thing.
Your holiday seems to have qualified as a Jólabókaflóð. Well done!
Thank you! Presents within my family have always been primarily books. It's pretty much what I gave people in return. (I could not resist a bumper sticker for my mother that proclaimed that as long as we have cats, everything is all right. I sandwiched it between her books.)