home again, again

We came back into a light snow very late Friday night -- or very early Saturday morning -- and spent yesterday catching up, as much as was possible, on email and bills and the odds and ends that are easy to forget when your attentions are completely absorbed elsewhere for a few days.

Last night Mary Durfee had one of her always-good wine tasting parties, with the theme of fault lines, and it was an almost raucous evening where we all told long stories (and learned how hard it is in Spanish to put pants on an octopus) and came home in a thick snow to our little but welcoming lit-up front porch. The cat is happy we are back, and is showing it in the best possible cat way, by sleeping for long and snoring hours pressed up against one or the other of us. For her, we take turns making the sacrifice of working in bed.

And because it is Sunday morning I have lulled a bit through Sunday morning reading, the Times and then across the blogs, finding thoughtfulness in this, for example, on Brokeback Mountain, the writer getting it right (I think) in the New York Review of Books. Jane has good openings into talking about the technological savvy of people in our classes. And Marilyn Manson is working on playing Lewis Carroll, which could, maybe, you know, perhaps be good if he gets the math right. Manson and Svankmajer could make a good evening together, perhaps, you know, maybe.

But what is perhaps, maybe, you know, more important, is this on what happens when science is trumped in order to "make the president look good."