The days after the new year night and beore Christmas seem like days nowhere. You have a free week, but you cannot afford a holiday trip anywhere so you stay at home with your books and films and the interet. You don't venture outside much unless you are invited anywhere for it's dark soon after ou get up and you mostly don't have to get any food since you have plenty of leftovers from new year night. Sometimes you unwrap you cross-stitching you've been doing for (five) years and still haven't done those final touches to think it complete. Sometimes you get o read the book you've meant o read for ages and you can afford to be engrossed in it. Yesterday I picked up "Little House on the Prairie" by Laura Ingalls Wilder which for various reasons I left unfinished on page 120 this summer. And it felt really nice to be totally engrossed in a book after many days. True, in my mind I jokingly regard some passages as "material for technical translation classes", for it has some deailed descriptions of carpenter work etc., which I have to reread one or two times before I can picture how building a roof or making a beadstead looked, but on the whole I think it's a great book and look forward of reading the series further, for, again, it's a book on immortal values, and it being written so simply makes you feel snug and warm like the little girls Laura might feel tucked up in her little bed in their little house.
