This is the carol for today: THE carol for today. It features, achingly, in a tiny moment of the children's novel The Children of Green Knowe, by L.M. Boston, which is set in a real 11th-century manor house in the fenlands outside Cambridge. In the novel, the house is haunted; some of its major characters, in fact, are the ghosts of 17th-century children. But in this one tiny moment, at Christmas, the character Tolly, a child of the present who has come to live with his great-grandmother in this haunted manor house, catches a glimpse of an old woman rocking a cradle and singing this carol. " . . . while four hundred years ago," the narrative says, "a baby went to sleep." For reasons I can't explain, I find this moment –– there and gone in the whole scheme of the novel –– unbearably beautiful.
In the sunshiny workaday present of this world and this morning, it's still unseasonably warm. I've been outdoors with Dora, who was climbing both the walls and me, and I've drunk coffee with my daughter and son-in-law who leave tonight, beginning the great emptying-out of our house. Our older son will follow them to Dallas tomorrow; their tradition is to celebrate New Year's with all his family and their friends at home in Dallas, and he has been part of that ever since they've been married. I'll see the married progeny again in two weeks when I bring the younger kids back to school, but I do not know when I will see him. I have been feasting my eyes on him as much as I can while I have him.
Meanwhile, I keep having to rinse out my dresses to get rid of the muddy pawprints and the spot remover, so today am wearing one of my remaining pairs of trousers:
These are elastic-waist, high-rise, loose, comfortable cotton-knit trousers I bought on Ebay last year, not realizing they were new. I do like them. They are insanely comfortable, and I feel okay in them. The shape feels even more forgiving and flattering than joggers. They're good for warmish days like this, when I don't have to wear socks and can roll up the bottoms.
Wearing with my thrifted J.Jill cotton-ramie pullover, over a camisole of a similar color. As you can see, the sweater is a little see-through. After trying it tucked in various ways, I've just left it untucked. Less flattering, maybe, but also less hassle.
Purple Xero Oswegos, and my hair, again, in a low side pull-through ponytail with a scrunchie. I'm addicted to this style, which looks effortful and is not at all.
Reading another Ngaio Marsh –– the twelfth (or thirteenth? I'm losing track) Roderick Alleyn mystery, Died in the Wool. It's World War II, Alleyn is stationed in New Zealand as the director of counter-espionage efforts, and a member of the New Zealand Parliament turns up murdered in a bale of wool. Fun Times. Many surprising plot twists even now. Alleyn's fresh off his last outing, another New Zealand case (also involving enemy agents, because that's technically his job) in which someone is murdered in a geyser at a hot-springs spa. Interesting country, New Zealand. So many inventive ways to get bumped off there. Now that Dora is finally chilled out on the sofa beside me, I think I'll resume my reading.