Yesterday a rainstorm blew in, so I stayed cozy most of the day in my cheerfully lit and warm apartment. I read some chapters from Mansfield Park, put together my new desk from Target, organized some poems for my students to study in the spring, and did my daily writing. I also spoke to a cleaning lady who was doing the apartment across the hall, and asked her what she would charge to clean my apartment. She breezed through the rooms, asking things like, “Is that chair from Pier 1? Oh, how about that table? Pier 1?” As she was leaving, she said, “Excuse me, but you seem like a pretty intelligent person. Just a guess” ... and then she was gone. (I may hire her services. The apartment could use a bi-weekly cleansing.)

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From Mansfield Park, a wise statement about how trials and afflictions can, in the end, bring a certain “charm” to one’s life:

“...and though there had been sometimes much of suffering to [Fanny]; though her motives had often been misunderstood, her feelings disregarded, and her comprehension undervalued; though she had known the pains of tyranny, of ridicule, and neglect, yet almost every recurrence of either had led to something consolatory: her aunt Bertram had spoken for her, or Miss Lee had been encouraging, or, what was yet more frequent or more dear, Edmund had been her champion and her friend: he had supported her cause or explained her meaning, he had told her not to cry, or had given her some proof of affection which made her tears delightful; and the whole was now so blended together, so harmonised by distance, that every former affliction had its charm.”