Holiday at Home

Well, the Christmas vacation is off to a strong start. I hit the faculty celebration for Lenox on the way home, stopped again with the Williamstown contingent for some brews, and rolled into town in time for pizza and a movie. (The Santa Clause 3. Which is precisely as you would think it would be.) Up before dawn this morning to go to Adams and chase deer again. Lots of tracks, but also lots of snow, which eventually made me give in. I mean, it was mid-thigh deep at times. But I scouted out an excellent location for when I go and stand on Monday. The deer, turns out, are forced into a quite narrow area if they want to get from one large portion of the property to another by a series of beaver ponds. Should be exciting.

Home for lunch, and then a lot of house cleaning. I'm still a bit sick - feeling pretty bleary-eyed and weak right now, as a matter of fact. But so far the kids aren't showing signs of it (apart form T' cough), and Janneke is a pillar of strength. Must be because her hair is growing long again - she French braided it the other day and was pleased as punch. She's our little Sampson.

On winter vacation days inside, things can get a little loopy. Here's what I'm talking about:



T doing one of her dramatic ballet-type leaps toward the camera. In her hand is the usual prop in any production of Swan lake: Berry-flavored licorice.



Q makes some stained glass panels for the window. If the picture the other day was his "liquid" face, this one would be his "Deliverance" face.



Here's Q, having claimed insomnia and returned to the couch to share in the joys of literature with Mami. I really like this picture, but, for you literalists and killjoys in our circle of friends (that's right, I'm talking about you (no, not you - Him. The one - Yes, right. You.)), here's the version where the cold, cruel light of the flash robs it of all life and spirit:



There. Happy now? You've got your precious detail. Never mind the death of the warm glow from Q's reading light. Who cares, right? It's only the entire soul of the picture.

Why don't you go kick over a sand castle somewhere?

Shmuck.

Love you, though.