lifting the snow-powder from untrodden shadows

If you would like to know the truth, I am feeling a trifle awkward about writing as of late. Namely (as Professor Bloedow would say), the fact that nearly all the students here are now aware of my blog. Johnston will sometimes even yell at me from across the room: "Why haven't you updated your blog yet?" The other day Davis was reading it aloud and even mentioned sending it to his mother. So now I really have no conception of who is reading this, but if I may be quite honest, I have discovered how to write. I just write as I journal, as disturbing as that may strike you. So if you don't mind hearing all the trifling details of College Life or suffering through an indelicately long paragraph given entirely to a tirade on the classics, food, funny quotes or the attempt to grasp the fact that negative degrees are now an everyday occurrence, you are welcome to continue the relationship. There, now I've said it, and I will continue to post, but in holy fear as to the identity of my ghostly readers.

I was sick this past weekend again and missed out on an Epiphany service at a Ukrainian Catholic Church in the area. Apparently the highlight of the service was the casting of a wooden cross into a body of water and then everyone getting anointed with oil. I was glad I stayed home though because it was an outdoor affair and I would've died slowly in a freezing, sniffly mess. Johnston came back with a small plastic container and tossed it at me as she passed by the bedroom door. "Cross yourself and drink that." 
I looked up with beatific expression. "Holy water?" 
"Yup." 
I did as she instructed and then asked with a whisper of a grin, "Does it contain possible healing properties for the infirm?" 
"Probs."
(As it happened, by that evening I was able to sit up and take nourishment and have yet to succumb to the cough that appears to be in league with the sore throat.)

The title, before I forget, is taken from the Michael Phillips' George MacDonald biography that I have been reading: "All the short day the sun, though low, was brilliant, and the whole countryside shone with dazzling whiteness; but after sunset, which took place between three and four o'clock, anything more dreary can hardly be imagined, especially when the keenest of winds rushed in gusts from the northeast, and lifting the snow-powder from untrodden shadows, blew it, like so many stings, in the face of the freezing traveler." (Ranald Bannerman's Boyhood, Ch. 31) Delicious. And I can relate! 

OK, let's be serious. The first week back I almost got behind because I was enraptured with O. Douglas' Eliza for Common and barely made time for King Lear and some sixty-something paged dissertation on the French papacy. This past week I have excelled in virtue and [I believe] rocked the Philosophy assignment on excerpts from the Summa Theologicae (dear ol' Aquinas! how I love thee) after stumbling through excerpts of the City of God. I understand Augustine, for the most part, I just can't put him into words! "The charm of leisure must not be indolent vacancy of mind, but the investigation or discovery of truth." He's amazing! That is the latest inspirational quote for journaling. The translation of John 9:1-12 in the Advanced Greek class (or 'The Secret Club' as Davis calls it) also went great. The Secret Club, by the way, is not just myself and Professor Bloedow. Almost all the other Greek students are in it, which is nice. I had to catch up with just Prof my first week back though, and that one-on-one time was probably the best. 

Anna Buchan (O. Douglas, you'll understand) described Ottawa as a "leafy Ontario town, happy beside it's river." That just fills my heart with joy, and it's actually true, provided you can see her leafiness beside the river. Ottawa is still a happy place even in the icy throws of winter and I am much more city-wise now. I don't feel like a bumpkin at all strolling these streets.  I forgot to mention this but last week there was a Northern Lights alert and we drove around for about an hour after 10PM looking for them. It was too cloudy to see anything spectacular but we took a trek across the Ontario River and watched the water-color sky hopefully, but the colors never exceeded deep purples and silver-lined navy-greens. I didn't even realize we were hiking across a frozen river until I mentioned glibly what a nice field this must be in the summer. "This is the river, Sarah Grace," said Lisa with a laugh. "You're walking on water!" I stood amazed. 

Milton in Literature class. Paradise Lost is incredible, I don't know how I ever lived nineteen years without reading it... I guess because I haven't taken Great Books IV yet. YET! Anyway, that class time never went so fast. I can't get enough of it. Mozart in Music Seminar, WHOOHOO! Just call me a Renaissance woman. Well, not quite... an aspiring one, anyway. Don Giovanni strikes chords in my heart, probably because of growing up on Gilbert & Sullivan. The opera speaks to my soul. 

Oh, by the way, Johnston and I finally introduced Adrienne to The Music Man. BEST MOVIE EVER! How could I have forgotten how amazing it is? Eulalie MacKecknie Shinn is my role model. I wish I had a music score like hers for all my entrances. We've been going around saying, "George! Tempus fugent!" and "FOUR SCORE!" and then rolling around in stitches. Good times in Canada.