At around eleven that night, a predicted snowfall had come. He and Annie looked out about midnight before pulling the plug on the tree and going to bed, and mutually agreed how peaceful and clean the streets of New York seemed in such weather.
It's a happy scene. One of the few happy scenes in the entire book. It's pre-Robert's death. Pre-grieving Ives. Pretty much, it's a scene straight out of a Bing Crosby television Christmas special. A glowing tree. Falling snow. The world dark and calm.
I have survived another week of teaching. I get to go home tonight and do anything that I want to do. I could watch TV. Read a book. Fall asleep before the ten o'clock news. The entire evening is wide open.
My weeks are fairly hectic, what with working at the medical office and teaching. Every morning is early. Every day is long and busy, shuttling between two jobs. Every night is filled with school work and class prep. Thursday nights, I allow myself to relax a little. Of course, I still have a rambunctious seven-year-old son and a sulky teenage daughter to deal with, but that's where headphones and AccuRadio come in handy.
So, I am thankful for this time of doing absolutely nothing, giving my brain a night off after four days of running on overdrive. My batteries need to be recharged. After I am done typing this post, I think I will do some pleasure reading, letting go of all my current worries. Bad brakes to fix. Dance costumes and tuition to somehow pay for. Papers to grade.
Saint Marty is just plain tired and grateful for good books, good music, good poetry, and, maybe, good alcohol (something strong that tastes like root beer).
Counterpane: Grandfather's Death
by: Robert Hass
On the pillow
the embroidered flowers
fading that patient spider
who made the best
bright quilts from rags
that are every bird
Audobon ever killed
Off the Top of My Head