Snow all day yesterday. I worked on compiling a manuscript, filled out many Christmas cards, baked orange butter cookies, and made a big chicken dinner. Meanwhile, Paul decided to organize my books. Not only that: he actually made me agree to getting rid of quite a lot of them. "Which biography of Keats do you actually read?" "Why are you keeping Ruskin if you hate Ruskin?" "Do you need two copies of Macauley's History of England?" "Do you think you will ever get around to reading this giant Herodotus?" I was very meek, and he was victorious.

Really, I swear, I did get rid of a lot of books before we left Harmony. But somehow I fell into a coma about the rest of them. It does seem hard to overlook two copies of Macauley's History of England.

Today P says he'll be tackling my poetry shelves. I feel the sweat beading up on my forehead already.