but a shadow...

I was so preoccupied with preparing for lessons and carols that I didn't remember until afterwards: Saturday marked the fifth anniversary of my signing First UU's membership book. What an intense and rewarding half-decade it's been.

The Christmas Eve service was the loveliest it's been -- superb music (in addition to other pieces I mentioned earlier, our pianist played Chip Davis's arrangement of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen") and a member of the church who'd grown up in it retold the story of the first Christmas Eve in the sanctuary 43 years ago, when the windows had not yet been installed and the only light available was from the candles they held, wax dripping on their fingers as they shielded the tapers from the wind, singing "Silent Night" with their coats on...

Sunday morning, I picked up a friend and we drove to Cookeville, where we lavished affection on the cat at the Meeting House. For the service, we opened with Loreena McKennitt's rendition of "Good King Wenceslas" on the boom box, and the congregants shared texts they had brought with them -- Maya Angelou, Wendell Berry, John Muir, Susan Polis Schutz, Sophia Lyon Fahs, and others. For my part, I said Shehechianu (the Jewish blessing thanking God for enabling us to reach this season), and read aloud Howard Thurman's "The Work of Christmas" for the meditation:

When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among brothers,
To make music in the heart.

Christmas dinner and movie (A Christmas Story) was with my in-laws, and I ended the evening with Hanukkah candles and reading. The glorious clambake jumble of inspired weirdity that is Yuletide is now live, and some deliciously arch soul gave me Of All the Maidens Fair, based on Sarah Caudwell's Hilary Tamar mysteries. (More recs over in bronze_ribbons, in a bit...)

The plan for the rest of today? A bit more reading, a lot of cleaning, some editing, and perhaps a couple hours of Israeli dancing, and the husband is finding me amusing (a long story, but I basically had the good fortune to marry someone who thinks I'm funny even when I'm grumpy: I just marched into his study and announced, "I'm glad you are, because I sure as hell don't," and not only did he understand what I was talking about, he cracked up).

recs

The weekend has been navigated, the second night's candles have been lit, and I've reheated my mug of tangerine tea and clicked on the "history" tab of my browser. Here's some of what I've been reading:

I came across Adrienne's Careless and its sequels just yesterday, while looking up a crack_broom referral to another story on the site. Sirius/Severus, Severus/Remus. NC17. I'm not a mpreg fan in general, but this is so hot and bittersweet, with flashes of dark, knowing humor, and I was completely hooked by the time Lupin explains to Snape why he wants to play chess:

"One, you generally have whiskey to rival Minerva's best and you're more generous with it than she is. Two, I can commiserate with the feeling of having one's insides rearranged. Three, Sybill is following me around again and I want somewhere to hide where she won't find me. Four and last, you're the only one here at Hogwarts who can play chess worth a damn other than Ron Weasley.

"So find Weasley."

"He's attached to Hermione Granger. Mostly at the lip."

"I see your dilemma." One corner of Severus mouth quirked up. "Very well."

I've now forgotten who pointed to me to pond's site, but she's drawn some of the hottest Snape/Lupin pieces I've ever seen. (Even this one, which is work-safe but nonetheless downright delectable (and the NWS ones ... oh, my...). And while I don't ship Lucius/Severus at all, her newest of that pairing (NWS!!!) ... guh!)

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This year's Yuletide vaults are now open, and there are some delights and doozies in there. I've only dipped in hither and thither, so this is neither a systematic nor comprehensive list:

Of All the Maidens Fair. Hilary Tamar. Written for me! This passage in particular is vintage Caudwell, as it were:

They, however, did not notice me; they appeared to be in conference, their heads bent together, and I stopped for a second, observing the attractive contrast of Julia's tousled dark head and Ragwort's lighter and infinitely tidier one and pondering whether I should go and purchase some wine. Noticing, however, that the bottle on the table occupied by my young friends appeared to be reasonably full, I decided not to waste any time in joining them.

Also Ran - Chariots of Fire. Restrained and knowing and bittersweet.

The Priest That Tastes the Word. Dogma.

Metatron listened to the thoughts in his head, and then jerked his head around to glare at God. "I will *not* be writing you sonnets," he hissed, then winced as the rest of the skeeball enthusiasts turned to stare at the middle-aged Brit refusing to write poetry for the stoner.

On the Eighth Day. Dogma.

Questioning. Dogma. (I'm not even that much of a fan of the movie, but these fics hit just the spot.)

...her friend Liz had contributed by making sure that Bethany had tried the very best of at least three different faiths' holiday foods during her pregnancy when she'd started having all sorts of odd cravings. There'd been no reason to abandon the tradition of having the best klaicha and beef rendang she could find around Eid, though she could never quite manage to keep the dates straight.

Do But Keep the Peace. Benvolio's role in Romeo and Juliet was more significant than he let on.

Slave Bear Of Care-A-Lot. Care Bears. Hardcore BDSM. I swear I thought catrinella was joking when she mentioned this in someone's comments; then I saw it linked on several rec lists. This joins Battle Flower Bud (Iron Chef) in my pantheon of Utterly Glorious Wrongness.

The Grand Tour. Little Men. Lovingly detailed.

Every Good Girl Does Fine. Peanuts. Patty and Marcie, senior year of high school.

Chuck will attend Homecoming with a redhead whose name Patty can never remember. She leans against the lockers when Linus mentions it and waits for jealousy to wash across her, and feels kind of cheated by the universe when it never comes.

To Bear Well, and To Bloom Well. Twelfth Night. I fear this may be getting overshadowed by the R&J tour de force mentioned above -- which would be a shame, it being such a lyrical and gratifyingly layered look at what might be seen after the close of the play:

The fool is not a wassailer. He will not sing to trees, much as he will not sing hymns. He does not think that a song is something you should trust to. But he still follows the party to the orchard - because when people are very sorrowful or very joyous, they forget that he is there (nobody notices a fool, and anyone can buy his silence) and then, then he sees.