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Daily Dose

From Tom Jones, by Henry Fielding

AS

"As there is no wholesomer, so perhaps there are few stronger sleeping potions than fatigue."

From Book XII, Chapter 8

Daily Dose

From Tom Jones, Volume Two, by Henry Fielding

AND NOW

"And now, reader, as we are in haste to attend our heroine, we will leave to thy sagacity to apply all this to the Boeotian writers, and to those authors who are their opposites.  This thou wilt be abundantly able to perform without our aid.  Bestir thyself therefore on this occasion; for, though we will always lend thee proper assistance in difficult places, as we do not, like some others, expect thee to use the arts of divination to discover our meaning, yet we shall not indulge thy laziness where nothing but thy own attention is required; for thou art highly mistaken if thou dost imagine that we intended, when we began this great work, to leave thy sagacity nothing to do; or that, without sometimes exercising this talent, thou wilt be able to travel through our pages with any pleasure or profit to thyself."

From Chapter IX

I Haste Me to Bed

I like pillows -- a lot.  I don't mean those pretty, fussy things some women arrange across an otherwise inviting bed; all brocade and trims, big, uncomfortable buttons, tassels and whatnot.  Throw pillows, is it?  Meant to be thrown.  I don't like bolsters and and ovals and odd shapes.  No.  I like bed pillows.  I like big pillows.  I like firm pillows and soft, fluffy ones.  I like a lot of 'em.  My beloved husband, A. sleeps on just two, rather flat pillows.  I sleep on a wedge, from thin to thick against the headboard.  Helps me breath, I like to think, but that may or may not be true.  Mostly though, what I like best is sitting up in bed, in winter, with a comforter across my legs and with a great pile of pillows behind me and around me.  How I like to watch TV.  My favorite place to read.

Different folks have different ideas of a holiday, I suppose.  Mine is sitting in bed all day with a book.   Christmas morning of course we're up at a reasonable hour, just the beloved husband and me, to open presents and call the relations.  We watch something or other on the television, and at some point he starts our supper.  The rest of the day, I sit in bed and read.  It's bliss.

The holidays have always been something of a trial for us.  He worked in the Postal Service -- bulk mail -- for thirty five years.  I've worked retail nearly my whole, adult life.  The year I moved in with the man 32 years ago, we spent just that first Christmas apart.  I went home to the family.  Never happened again.  (At the time, they did not altogether approve.)  Ever since we've spent Christmas together.

For many years we had friends over.  There were elaborate dinners, a proper tree, drifts of gifts.  Some of the friends we knew died.  We moved away.  For a long time now, there's been just us.  If asked, I might say we missed those Christmases, but I don't know that I do now.  I miss my friends.  I miss my family.  I don't know that I miss the rest.  As I said, we've usually been run a bit ragged by the time December 25th actually rolled 'round.  Usually I've had to work the next day anyway.  To just be home, together, quiet, that's what I like best.

A book, in bed, with pillows.

It's a lazy sort of tradition, for me anyway.  But what it feels like is rest.  Not always easy to say what that is, other than a proper night's sleep.  That isn't what I mean though.  There may well have been a nap, somewhere along the day.  I won't deny it.  What I like though, once my family obligations have been met, is to not to think my own thought, or worry my worries for a whole day.  Because nearly everyone we know is far away, I make a fool of myself every year, rushing around from Thanksgiving to Christmas, making calendars, buying things, trying to get packages mailed, etc.  All the usual nonsense.  Work at the bookstore likewise gets a bit hectic at the holidays.  I enjoy that, but it does wear me down by the time Christmas comes, "Weary with toil", as Shakespeare's Sonnet 27 puts it.  What's wanted then is a day in bed.  Pillows.

What I read doesn't much matter, honestly.  The reading does, but not the matter.  I returned to Tom Jones at last.  I read into the second volume of the Alexandre Dumas I'd set down.  I read, as incongruous as it sounds for occasion, quite a bit of Primo Levi.  I dipped and dozed and let my eye roam across my nightstand.  It was almost the point not to read too far or too fast in any one thing.  I wasn't reading for sense, you understand, or even entertainment as such.  I was reading for rest.

There's something wonderfully luxurious about reading this way, something quite decadent in being propped up in bed all day like some ancient Pasha, sampling prose the way a Sultan might call for his harem.  I'd no more thought of doing anything else unless and until our meal was ready or the house caught fire.

Didn't owe nobody nothing.

Not true, actually.  At some point I had to at least offer help in the kitchen, but we don't do anything elaborate at Christmas as we do at Thanksgiving.  Sooner or later I knew I'd come down here to my desk and do... something.

for a few happy hours however, it was just me in bed: books, pillows, a comforter across my legs, and just such company as I like best.

Merry Christmas.  Hope you all got what you wanted too.

Breakfast at the Bookstore with Brad and Nick #54

Daily Dose

From Tom Jones, by Henry Fielding

TO SAY THE TRUTH

"To say the truth, these soporific parts are so many scenes of serious artfully interwoven, in order to contrast and set off the rest; and this is the true meaning of a late facetious writer, who told the public that whenever he was dull they might be assured there was design in it."

From Book V. Chapter One

Breakfast at the Bookstore with Brad and Nick #53

Daily Dose

From Tom Jones, by Henry Fielding

MISS BRIDGET ALLWORTHY

"The lady, no more than her lover, was remarkable for beauty.  I would attempt to draw her picture, but that is done already by a more able master, Mr. Hogarth."

From Chapter XI

Daily Dose

From Tom Jones, by Henry Fielding

"In our last book we have been obliged to deal pretty much with the passion of love; and, in our succeeding book, shall be forced to handle this subject still more largely."

From Book VI, Containing About Three Weeks, Chapter One, Of Love

Daily Dose

From Tom Jones, by Henry Fielding

AND HERE

"And here, reader, we must strictly caution thee, that thou dost not take any occasion from the misbehaviour of such a wretch as this, to reflect on so worthy and honourable body of men, as are the officers of our army in general."

From Book Nine, Chapter Two

Daily Dose

From Tom Jones, by Henry Fielding

THE REMAINDER

"The remainder of this scene consisted entirely of raptures, excuses, and compliments, very pleasant to have heard from the parties, but rather dull when related at second hand."

From Book Fifteen, Chapter 4