Sankt Martin, and Arrears

Today is, as far as Catholics are concerned, is the feast of St. Martin. This saint was a Roman soldier who found God, eventually gave up his sword, and became the (Arch?)Bishop of Tours. His most renowned feat is that of dividing his cloak with a sword in order to clothe a freezing beggar. Where my mother grew up there are processions with a person dressed as Sankt Martin riding a white horse, with families carrying colourful lanterns behind him. In Canada we were really the only ones we knew who celebrated it, so we made lanterns, had a small procession with them in front of our relatives, and sang Sankt Martin's songs.

So this afternoon we had nine people (mostly relatives) over; ate Pöfferkes, Pfeffernüsse, Lebkuchen, Stollen, nuts, oranges, and Spekulatius; drank hot chocolate and Glühwein and orange juice; played; and conversed. Admittedly neither I nor my siblings did much conversing, though the conversation did turn to us; specifically, the conversation turned to the idea that we're sitting around too much at home, which idea was actually expressed so as not to be annoying or hurtful. Beginning last evening I've felt nauseated off and on, so I ate very carefully, but everything has gone well (except my sleep last night, which was not good). After the guests left we sang St. Martin's songs and English Christmas carols (German Christmas songs had, I think, better be left for a week or so for the benefit of the neighbours).

In other news, almost all of us have had colds. It was also quite chilly in our apartment before the wood coal briquets arrived yesterday; we spent several days wearing scarfs and blankets, and burrowing under sleeping bags. In my case, at least, I'm not exaggerating.

To refer to my last post, I have not weaned myself from gutenberg.org after all. Perhaps this was predictable. I don't think I've given print fiction enough of a chance, but sometimes I do simply need an "intravenous" shot of fiction. But I have done more cooking; yesterday I made potato soup and boiled broccoli (mmm . . . ), to which Mama added braised chicken and turkey nuggets as well as cucumber salad. That said, my interest in cooking has waned, and I find it too time- and attention-absorbing anyway; my modus operandi is painfully slow, and interrupts my self-assigned studies.

Yesterday I did review Geoffrey Chaucer's biography and rapidly read "The Clerk's Tale" as translated into modern English by Neville Coghill (unnatural parents!). It's amusing that even in the late fourteenth century the heroine Griselda was seen as irritatingly masochistic. That said, I did find the tale highly readable. In my light literature on gutenberg.org, I have reached the authors beginning with T again, and decided just yesterday evening to abridge my progress through the works of Louis Tracy (exciting but doesn't leave one contented). I stayed up one night and slept through the next day, and this has completely thrown me off, so that I feel chronologically adrift. Hopefully I'll snap out of it soon. This morning I woke up quite wired (or, if you will, hyperactive), and this feeling has lasted into the evening. I played the piano fluently, but too fluently. I managed to calm down enough to play Andantes by Mozart decently, but my violin playing was automatically presto (by my usual standards, probably a weak allegro by professional standards).

As for the elections in the US, I am quite content, but intend to reserve my final judgment until the next two years are over.