"Home? I Have No Home..."

Back in Sunny Florida. It's weird that this dumpy apartment feels more like home than my parents' new house.

Among other highlights of the holiday are my cousin Cathleen reading a hilarious poem on Thanksgiving, and my brother and I mopping the floor with the competition in a cutthroat game of Balderdash. I saw Pride and Prejudice with my mom and Debbie, and as a result feel that I ought to reread the book. I had some complaints about it, and this Darcy was certainly no Colin Firth, but he was serviceable, as was Keira Knightley. I'd recommend it, although I'd probably recommend you read the novel first.

I also finished reading Anthony Trollope's "The Way We Live Now", which I had almost given up on finishing. Thoreau once said something about how it should take you as long to read a book as it took the author to write it; I think this turned out to be the case for this book. It took me more than six months to read (during which time I read a whole boatload of other books), and Trollope was a notoriously prolific author, not much given to editing his texts. The last hundred pages just flew by. I am going to tackle his "Can Your Forgive Her?", but decided that I would take a break first.

It was cold as Satan's third nipple in New York; it was in the 30s when I got there, and dropped well below that over the weekend. My parents are trying to save on heating costs, so they are keeping the thermostat set to 60. They offset this by keeping a fire in the fireplace, but that only helps in the Living Room; it the rest of the house, you need three layers of clothing to keep your teeth from chattering.

The flights were all good, no delays at all, which I thought was surprising. It was almost fun. Ish.

All in all, a good time, but it is good to be, um, home. In Florida.