Orrery

Instead of being frustrated when I come upon a word I don’t know, I’m pleased. Aha! A new one. When I find a new one, I either jot it onto a sticky note and put it where, in theory, I will not lose it; or, if I’m reading a book, I use a 3x5 card as a bookmark so that I can note any unfamiliar word and the page number. (If I’m reading a novel by Elizabeth George, I may need more than one card.)

Recently I came across these three:

nosology: n. the branch of medicine that deals with classification of disease

adytum: n. a sacred place (also a Death Metal band)

orrery: n. a mechanical device that shows the relative positions of the planets and moons around the sun; a 3D model of how celestial bodies orbit the sun. There's an enormous orrery in the climactic scenes of "Lara Croft Tomb Raider," a 2001 movie starring Angelina Jolie and featuring Daniel Craig as Alex West. (Craig was relatively unknown at the time and wasn't listed in the movie trailer.)

As I was writing this post, the word-checking program on my computer underlined two of the three words. Apparently the word-checking program is unfamiliar with them, too.

(About the photo: The orrery shown was completed in August 2005. For more information, see The 10,000 Year Clock at http://longnow.org/clock/orrery/.)

Best of Winter

I’ve almost missed the chance to write a Best of Winter list, so I’m hurrying this one along. As soon as it’s done, I’ll begin pondering a Best of Spring list.

My first thought was that a Best of Winter list would be a short one. What is there about winter that I consider worthy of being best? Beyond the rare but lovely picture-postcard snowfall, what brings me respite, contentment or joy?

•  Staying inside on a bitterly cold day, mug of tea in hand, cat(s) in lap, large book nearby and open. I enjoy looking at snow (or rain or sleet) and feeling the contrast as I sit, warm and content, inside. “You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.” --C.S. Lewis
• The holidays, especially Christmas. Not every Christmas in my adulthood has lived up to the magic and anticipation I remember from childhood, but I remain hopeful most years. This past Christmas, my older son, his wife, and one-year-old grandson made the trip north to be with us. My children were home and my parents were here. I was surrounded by what I wanted most.
•  Stews, homemade soup, warm bread. They taste best when the weather turns cold, days are short, and there is a chill attempting to enter by any window or door not barricaded against it.
• Candlelight and firelight. My eyes drink in the warmth and encouragement.
• Lights on trees, houses, and bushes, especially the little fairy lights. I have them somewhere in or on my house all year: around the inside of the screened porch, above a doorway, along a high bookcase. Seeing them, I think of summer evenings, lawns of thick, clipped grass, and the deeper coolness under a tree in full leaf. Being in a room lighted by their tiny, determined glow is quite different from being under even the softest of incandescent bulbs.
• The first daffodils. At our house, these enthusiastically yellow harbingers show up sometime in the first three weeks of March, just before the official start of spring. Even after a relatively mild winter, their color is welcome and refreshing to eyes whose outdoor fare has seemed too beige, too grey, too sparse.