Clear blue skies made the still-white snow brilliant among the tall, thin trees. The trees are silvered-brown, with a glow of red to them, elegant and towering. They feel so much taller than the forest I live near in England, so much narrower and flimsy than the strong, over-arching oaks of Des Moines. I associate them strongly with Connecticut; the woodland perched among the bluffs and excavated cut-throughs of the highways here.

We left D.C. this morning in darkness. Dawn rose, pink and gold, over Maryland, and by Delaware, it shone sharp and clear. I spent New Jersey thinking about the geography of friendship, all the people I know temporary or long-term staying along my route, unvisitable in the rapid tour which is this trip. The air was so clear over the Hudson that we could see New York City crisply backlit off in the far distance from the Tappan Zee bridge.

In Connecticut, sun-warmed water dripped slowly from tall, thin trees, and the air smelled fresh and clean from the light breeze over snow.

Yesterday, we perched up in the seats above the US Senate. Rows upon rows of wooden desks, like magnificient school desks, stood empty. There were at most six senators present - not that we could see them all from our vantage point. Not far below us, we could watch over an editor's shoulder, seeing the out-of-sight senators speak.

Of course much of government is largely conducted in empty rooms, but I can't remember thinking of it that way before. These senators weren't orating to us, up in the balcony, or even very much to each other. Their audience was whoever happened to flip through channels and pause on C-Span for a moment. Their charts were reiterated from the day before. Their points were largely along the lines of, "As I said earlier..." or "As I was saying yesterday..." It wasn't debate. It was filling time by looking good.

Some of them might even sound good, but most were waffling on, deliberately filling time. I was grateful for McCain, who still had wit and a spark of life in him, despite the emptiness of the room's grandeur.

It began to seem like a pageant, each senator coming on when the script called for it, otherwise off in the wings, doing business, on vacation, not cluttering up the stage.

I have a hypothesis: there will be no more package deliveries until the last delivery date before Christmas.

Only an unexpected box arrived on Wednesday. None arrived yesterday. None have arrived so far today, and they're more prone to doing so in the morning than any other time. Today, I suppose, they have an excuse. It snowed last night, a few iced-in inches of decorative, world-brightening lightness. The roads around here are still wholly passable.

You'd never guess from this packagelessness that I ordered a frenzy of packages over the weekend, paid for their prompt delivery (but not overnight or two-day), and have received dispatch notices for most (all?) of them. I have sat in the house by the front door all day (working, it is true), waiting for their arrival. But no.

Perhaps it is this absence of delivery that has made me increasingly conscious of the tags and reassurances attached to the packages I am ordering at the same time for delivery in the US. They all tell me that yes, yes, it will arrive in time for Christmas. Some companies will provide free shipping upgrades to ensure it. No, they will not ship yet, not yet but soon, and soon will be in time for its arrival on the 24th because they are considerate and paying extra so it will ship late and fast.

What if I wanted it sooner than the 24th?

We came back from a weekend away (C. in Preston, I in London, Oxford, and Preston), parking along the street as usual.

I looked at the house on the left. I looked at the house on the right. "Why do so many people have fully-lit menorahs when we're only a couple of days into Hannukah?" I idly mused to C.

He thought they weren't menorahs at all, not in the usual sense, but rather an extrapolation: menorahs are sold this time of year, therefore they must be a Christmas decoration. Therefore there are lots of fully lit ones in windows around the neighborhood. It's rather surreal.

Speaking of which, ( Decorating with holiday cards... )

My favorite annual fundraiser, Menu for Hope, has begun. Each year, it raises money for one of the UN's food programes. This year's program is "Purchase for Progress". The real reason it's my favorite fundraiser, though, is the amazing food-related prizes to be won, from lavish multi-course meals with matching wine to market tours to food-related guidebooks to cooking classes to cases of wine. Each US$10 ticket goes towards one specific prize of your choice. (In other words, you'll only be entering to wine prizes you'd want to win.) Menu for Hope will be available to enter until December 25th.

In other news, the lovely stephanieburgis is giving away the very first ARC for her forthcoming young adult Regency fantasy novel, A Most Improper Magick. If you're tempted, contest details are here.

From Hammersmith & Town,
the Circle line was born.
A gilded, crowded crown,
a city to adorn.

Yellow, with age and use,
today, it makes the news:
Infinity's unwound,
it no longer goes round.

Encoiled, its extent
is volute. An event:
the Circle line is torn;
a Spiral line is born.