I arrived home after Starbucks locked up, arms full of research papers to read and grade, and I noticed my daughter’s knitting on the windowsill—but my arms were full. I didn’t wash my face or make tea, just sat to read more papers until sleep overtook me. Then the nocturnal creature we call our pet found some sort of hockey puck to slide mercilessly around the floor. One a.m. I took the hockey puck-object. Three a.m., the running began and of course it was Madeleine’s ball of “eyelash” yarn, strung around the furniture and massed into something unrecognizable. But the children's knitted polar bears were not attacked, thank goodness, though they were left clearly within reach of the cat, on the dining chairs. Six a.m. my husband began the new regime of turning on the lights so children can wake up slowly. The bed is covered with the furry bits of eyelash yarn which clung to my pajamas after my late night yarn rescue.
I am considering a move to an igloo—a dark igloo lined with bearskin rugs, somewhere near Starbucks, where no one turns on lights half an hour early, and no one shreds yarn.
My teaching semester ends soon, and Christmas break begins in a week and a half. Bits of snow remain on the nearby rooftops. I keep promising to bring the Advent candles down from the attic, since we are ten days into Advent. Soon. I found the Christmas music, with which they torture me. I like some of it-- the hymns, the traditionals sung traditionally, and the Squirrel Nut Zippers.
And it’s time for another cup of coffee. Reflection, later. Grading, now.
