16 December 2001 - 12:48 a.m.
As always, plans changed: Ter had hockey tickets, so the BYM and I scrubbed the play-watching date. It's probably just as well - I still haven't shaken my cough, and it occurs to me I shouldn't try to go to tomorrow's early music concert either.
So after albondiga soup and taquitos at Rosepepper with the boys, I went back home and wrote letters, and reread parts of These Happy Golden Years. And nearly fainted when I suddenly realized I was sympathizing with Ma instead of Pa:
"I would like to go West," he told Ma one day. "A fellow doesn't have room to breathe here any more."
On the other hand, I don't think aliens have completely hijacked my grey matter, since I recall there being some other passage in some other Little House volume about proper ladies sleeping in their corsets, and I think I can safely promise you that I will never succumb to that particular form of fashion-induced torture, as sleeping in anything other than a loose gown tends to drive me batshit. (I can nap in full attire, of course, but I'm usually ready to rip off my bra the instant I come home - wearing one 24/7 is simply Out of the Question.)
On a brighter note, I really do like the Christmas vignettes in THGY, and even in the midst of this year's lunacy I've found myself sometimes remembering the end of chapter 25:
"Oh, Laura!" Carrie said, as Laura blew out the lamp in the bedroom. "Isn't this the nicest Christmas! Do Christmases get better all the time?"
I thought I had more to spill out on the pleasures of dusting powder, but you know, sometimes seventeen syllables really does suffice:
One year ago: "I am not sure whether I would prefer attempting to seduce the prim but culinarily-adept Ragwort or the more colorful Cantrip (something about the way he ejaculates "Strewth!"), but since the question is indeed 'purely' academic, I can entertain fantasies of both. And of Selena, too, for that matter."
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