Christmas Eve

On Christmas Eve, after mass, our family took a little walk around town, which was quiet and charmingly decorated.

We went for the first time to the Children's mass due to Baby Leopard's bedtime--it was sweet, with a little Christmas pageant by the kids (and one particularly adorable little angel).

We sang lots of Christmas carols, including the Little Drummer Boy--a surprising choice.

Northern California

Northern California is a really lovely place--we do lots of driving from place to place to see people when we're here for Christmas and it means we get to see lots of mountains, some snow-capped, and loads of pine trees.

I couldn't capture it on camera, but with the fog in between the pine trees, they go from dark to light, fading off into the distance.

We went to a Christmas festival in the next town. A drone, decorated for Christmas, with red and green flashing lights, flew overhead and scared us pretty good.

A Random Assortment

~ The Postal Services' thoughts on diversifying. (I have lots of postal service relatives and used to be a stamp collector and so it holds a soft spot in my heart.)

~ Bespoke libraries. Half of me loves this; half of me scorns people who can't do this themselves.

~ On evolving maternity style. I thought about this a lot while I was pregnant, although didn't find too many solutions (but I realize that, compared with the 80s, we have it really good when it comes to maternity style).

~ I didn't like this review of A Theory of Everything (who says that every biopic has to approach its subject in some pre-set fashion?), but it sure is witty:

It would be absurd, though, to suggest that Hawking’s disability was the most significant thing about him, or that the most significant thing about his disability was how irritable it made his ex-wife, Jane.

~ "Why is everyone so busy?" implies busyness is a new thing; Tocqueville claims that it's an old American tendency (the article quotes him). Interesting:

American mothers with a college degree, for example, spend roughly 4.5 hours more per week on child care than mothers with no education beyond high school. This gap persists even when the better-educated mother works outside the home, as she is now likely to do, according to research from Jonathan Guryan and Erik Hurst of the University of Chicago, and Melissa Kearney of the University of Maryland. As for fathers, those with a job and a college degree spend far more time with their children than fathers ever used to, and 105% more time than their less-educated male peers. These patterns can be found around the world, particularly in relatively rich countries.

And dryly witty:

Women’s paid work has risen a lot over this period, but their time in unpaid work, like cooking and cleaning, has fallen even more dramatically, thanks in part to dishwashers, washing machines, microwaves and other modern conveniences, and also to the fact that men shift themselves a little more around the house than they used to. 

 ~ I'm with the FDA and against ultrasounds for fun (I had only one during my pregnancy; also I found them not that fun and actually uncomfortable):

consumers, despite the FDA’s pleas, continue to pay for them, shelling out hundreds of dollars for photos or videos of their developing fetus (and fueling a thriving Etsy niche, where ultrasound images can be turned into ultrasound cufflinks, pillows, cake toppers, and truly unsettling night lights.)

Also, tangentially--I was thinking lately about how much I stared at our ultrasound picture before Baby Leopard was born and how uninterested I am in it now--once the real thing is in front of you, "through the glass darkly" becomes comparatively very boring.

Santa Clara

The second mission of our trip was the one at Santa Clara, where our friend teaches. He showed us around the campus, which is really lovely, and around the mission. Goodness--the whole campus was covered with flowers (lots of roses). And it was a sunny day. Such a treat to get away from the cold for a bit in December.

The painted ceiling:

The ceiling at the front of the church:

Our friend pointed out the theologically problematic part of the ceiling (at the bottom): Evidently early missionaries taught the doctrine of the trinity as three identical persons who would draw straws and the one with the shortest straw had to go down to earth to suffer. They were eventually told that that wasn't an ok way to teach it.

Quote

"A woman should never let her husband boss her around." --my husband's 95-year-old grandmother

The Mission Graveyard

Outside the mission, there's an incredible graveyard. (Also--this mission is the setting of Vertigo!)

It was raining for our visit, which was annoying. but the perfect mood. (There was a whole bush full of Birds of Paradise!)

Francisco's picture.

Ilana: notice how many different fonts there are on just one gravestone!

There are so many flowers in California in December--it's wonderful.

Mission Dolores, San Francisco

My hope for last summer was to drive up Route 1 with Francisco and stop at all the California missions. Instead, I was heavily pregnant. So I'm chipping away at them as we get the chance. On this visit, we got to see two (Mission San Luis Rey de Francia here).

This is the mission in San Francisco, which is beside a basilica from this century. The mission was founded in 1776; the building (the oldest in San Francisco) was dedicated 1791.

I love the painted patterned ceilings and the old wooden altar.

A Theory of Everything

The artsy movie theater in a lovely old building two miles from our house has a great thing: a Wednesday matinee at which you're welcome to bring your baby. Now, we and one other couple were the only ones to do so (the rest of the place was full of gray heads). It was actually delightful to hear the older people, some of whom were hard of hearing, whispering really loudly during the film--they were louder than the babies.

Anyway, we saw The Theory of Everything, which was pretty good as biopics go. It follows the life of Stephen Hawking from the perspective of his wife. The actor who played Hawking did a good job portraying the progression of the disability. The film was romantic and sad.

One great moment of the film was when Stephen was very ill and the doctor wanted to take him off his ventilator. At the time, his wife was falling for another man. Nonetheless, she adamantly maintained that he was to be given every care, that she absolutely wanted him to be kept alive. Would that we were always so respectful of the lives of those with disabilities.

Lessons and Carols

Baby Leopard and I went to Lessons and Carols last week. A couple of thoughts:

"Sing we, too, of Mary's sorrows, of the sword that pierced her through, when beneath the cross of Jesus she his weight of suffering knew..." reminds me of Fr. S saying that some women feel alienated by the Catholic tradition that Mary experienced no pain in childbirth (her pain was, instead, the pain of His death). I didn't see what he meant at the time, but I sure do now.

I also had a new take on Silent night--it sounds a little idealistic and kitchy and sentimental--"Holy Infant so tender and mild, sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace." I mean, it would be great if only they did sleep in heavenly peace. But waking up 30 minutes after you put them down, I'm just not sure if they do. If baby Jesus did, then yet another reason to feel alienated from Mary.

A Random Assortment

Cutest feet ever.

It drives me nuts that Francisco's pictures are all better than mine.

~ This is a great gift: a coloring book by Andy Warhol.

~ Wait: Nick Offerman has a book?!

~ More of Eliot's letters have been released. From a review:

Religion and nationality were paired in Eliot’s mind. “In the end I thought: here I am, making a living, enjoying my friends here,” he wrote. “I don’t like being a squatter. I might as well take the full responsibility.”

We invited some neighbors over for a little Christmas gathering. We weren't sure that any would show up, but three did, so we count it a success. Sadly, hardly anyone ate anything. Why?! We weren't going to poison them! (If I ever go to a party with food, you'd better believe I eat it!)

Anyway, in the case of the German chocolate cake that I made (which doubled as Francisco's birthday cake), it's just as well no one ate it: it's the best cake ever. And I even made it dairy free.

Parenthood.5

I write this as he's wailing--the pictures are quite a contrast.

Baby Leopard is three months now. We were at an appointment and he started laughing hysterically whenever a husky-voiced woman addressed me. This was only the second time he cracked up laughing (the first was when his grandmother and great-grandmother really got him going--right before bed, too--he didn't quiet down for hours). But this was a deep belly laugh. Francisco and I are disappointed that neither of us can get us laughing, but a stranger can. 

His hands are opening up from fists more and more--he strokes my face and hands when he's nursing. He's begun to grasp things (like my hair). I think it's time for a short haircut.

I ate dairy when I was home over Thankgiving, not massive amounts, just a little margarine in baked goods and a some milk and cheese in a strata. Well, we're all suffering from it now and I've sworn off dairy again for the rest of my life, or at least as long as I'm nursing Baby Leopard. 

I think I'm watching his eyes change from blue to brown each day this week. (Francisco says they're hazel, but they certainly aren't blue anymore.)

He's drooling a ton now (see the second picture) and blowing raspberries.

He's starting to act differently when he's at home with Francisco and me and when we're with people he doesn't know. With us, he makes lots of noises and smiles and cries. When we're out he's often much shyer and more reserved (except around the woman who makes him laugh, of course).

Little Sisters

Today Baby Leopard and I went to visit The Little Sisters so that the people who knew me during my pregnancy could meet the baby on the outside.

One nun greeted him, correctly guessed his age, and said to him in a sort of baby-talk, "Who are you?" Someone nearby said, Maybe he'll be a priest. The priest nearby said, Maybe a bishop. The nun spoke again to Baby Leopard, "Are you the pope?"

I love this, not because he's going to be the pope, but rather because it treats him as so much more than a baby--he is a nascent person, a person we don't know yet, but whose meaning and purpose is already inscribed in him. What a wonderful thing to keep in mind as I take care of this mostly helpless baby--"Who are you?" There's a person there, even though we can't see it yet. It's a very hopeful perspective.

Also, some of the elderly poor (that's who live at this home) gave him money--one woman gave him a dollar; another gave him five (she pulled it out of a pack of tissues where she'd tucked it away). Their generosity is quite humbling. (I've found more than once that the poorest among us are the most generous and the most welcoming into their community.)

Children's Books: On the Night You Were Born

I'm three months postpartum, my hair is starting to fall out again (it mostly stays put when you're pregnant) (I really hope I'm not one of the 50% of women for whom "starting to fall out again" involves losing big chunks of hair) and the memory of the labor is beginning to soften. Still when I'm alone and relaxed it all comes flooding back--when I'm taking a leisurely hot shower; when Francisco and I were at a Bob Dylan concert a few weeks ago. I guess I take a pretty long time to psychologically recover.

That is one reason that I've been loving this book--it's a celebration of the birth and of a new, unique person (a celebration that, let's just say, didn't spontaneously arise in me). Here's the ending (not to spoil the story, or anything):

For never before in story or rhyme
(not even once upon a time)
has the world ever known a you, my friend,
and it never will, not ever again...

Heaven blew every trumpet
and played every horn
on the wonderful, marvelous
night you were born.

I cried every time I read this book in the first few weeks of his life.

The truth is, although right now Baby Leopard is just a baby and can't communicate much (although I would say that he does communicate effectively--wailing gets me to try every possible solution I can think of), he is a person who never before existed and will never exist again. And the world will be a different place because of him. That's something to celebrate.

Philadelphia Free Library

Our tour guide at the Rosenbach this summer recommended a tour of the Philadelphia Free Library rare books department (which you, too, can go see on Saturdays, or any day, at 11).

As a frugal person, I love anything with "free" in the title. I mean, I know libraries are free nowadays, but I appreciate the ones that go out of their way to note it. Also, I love the sunbusts in the margines, above.

Great illumination here, too--I think this is a medieval law book, with crimes illustrated.

The rare books department has some incredible holdings, a few of which are exhibited, such as Dickens' desk and his bird, which influence Poe's "The Raven." The Elkins library, which you get to see on the tour, is gorgeous.

Not my picture; Charles Dickens' desk.

The rare books department evidently has quite a collection of tablets (thousands), of which a few are exhibited (see below). Our tour guide claims that financial transactions originally led to the creation of writing (and it is financial transactions that are primarily documented on these tablets).

As is the case with so many of the tours that Francisco and I go on in Philly, we were the only people there for it. The advantage is, of course, that the tour is then tailor made for us.

Sadly, only two examples of fraktur (which I've lately become obsessed with, but not as obsessed as Stearns) are shown. But the collection is digitized. And there will be a fraktur exhibit in March, which I'll be certainly coming back for. 

A Random Assortment

~ The brooch is back!

~ I had no idea that she was 94! (I was in the middle of the BBC production of Death Comes to Pemberley.)

~ Artist Textiles: Picasso to Warhol:

By the 1960s, Picasso was allowing his pictures to be printed on almost any fabric, with the exception of upholstery. The sofa was a line he wouldn’t cross, as the curators note: “Picassos may be leaned against, not sat on.”

~ The best part of this is the picture of Laurie Colwin and her daughter at the top. The worst part is all the rest--like the recommendation that you start with Family Happiness or the position that it's unbelievable that someone would be a backup singer. And especially the part that the e-books are attractively packaged. Who cares what the cover of an e-book looks like? It's not like you're going to put it on your coffee table or bookshelf. (Although it is very cool that the e-books include family photographs.) Also, unrelatedly, I'm very frustrated that not all of Colwin's works are collected--some of her essays in different magazines I haven't been able to get my hands on. And there's a tv-version of one of her short stories that is impossible to get a hold of. That kills me. (Via Francisco.)

~ I'm not sure about the credibility of The Guardian, "Winner of the Pulitzer Prize" (as Francisco pointed out, the Philadelphia Inquirer notes that is has won 20), but I feel a bit of vindication: "Mindy Lahiri: the greatest tv character of the year?" In my opinion, take out the question mark.

~ Another vindication: why a McDonald's cheeseburger is not that bad. Their only criterion is calories, which isn't too logical, since it's pretty clear to me a Whole Foods salad is still healthier, even if it has more calories. Anyway, Francisco and I ate McDonald's tonight to celebrate. (We live across the street from one, which is a pretty bad influence on us.)

~ Lawrence sent me this, saying, "This sounds like the kind of story you would enjoy." I guess that's because, as Francisco pointed out the other day, I'm irreverent. I do like a first daughter who will be found:

smoking in public, chewing gum, wearing pants, racing her own car too fast down D.C. streets, sometimes with male passengers and always unchaperoned, placing bets on horses (a news photographer snapped her collecting her winnings from a bookie)

  especially if it's to horrify a step-mother who thinks that

a lady’s name should appear in print only to announce her birth, marriage and death.

Christmas Comes to 221B

Since we're leaving for our Christmas travels (to see Francisco's family) a while before Christmas, I gave myself permission to decorate early. Since our landlord prohibited live Christmas trees, I bought a small fake one at a thrift store. (Honestly, we only followed the rule because we also had nowhere in the whole apartment to put anything bigger than this tiny little guy. And because I'm scared to death of disobeying the rules after our scarring landlord experience while at the May of Teck.)

Our tree has an ornament for the baby and for our wedding on it, new this year. And the calla lilies (above) have since been replaced with advent candles.

Francisco and I came home from a date to this photo on the camera--Stearns and Ilana dressed Baby Leopard up as Baby Jesus and added him to the creche.