Baby, it’s cold INside

After a lovely Christmas interlude at home in Alabama, I’ve returned to Cambridge to find that my heating oil has run out, and my house is COLD. 54 degrees, to be exact (20 degrees warmer than outside, but still). As you might understand, it’s going to be blankets, blankets, blankets in margaretmaloneyland tonight.

Christmas at home was fun. I read three novels (and a book about Vermeer’s use of the camera obscura that I picked up in high school but found way too dense at the time. This time I devoured it in just a few hours. Weird, huh?), including Suite Française by Irène Némirovsky, which was given to me for Christmas (thanks, Ayersts!). Another gift book that I read cover to cover was Notes on Book Design by Derek Birdsall, which Phyllis gave me. It makes me really want to design a book well, not just sort of adequately, like I did with the G&S book. Five books in a one-week vacation… that’s rather a lot.

Since Mom, Dad, and Phyllis were leaving for India on New Year’s Day, the night before was rather less party and rather more packing (and general helping on my part, at least when I wasn’t reading). However, we did have an adventure when our (circa 1950-something) stove decided to make its own fireworks when we tried to use it. A great white flash and a pop three times in a row indicated that it had finally bit the dust. One dinner at Subway later, we continued to scurry around the house, managing to all make it in one place at midnight for a group hug. Yes, a group hug. In front of the glass front door, no less, so anyone passing by at that moment might see. That’s us Maloneys for you, I guess. We like each other.

Project No. 1 tomorrow (maybe after the heating oil, on second thought) is working on grad school applications. They’re dangerously close to being due, and I need another recommender. Yikes!