Up at 2:30 this morning (damned pain meds! :x ). Lit a bowl of Astley's 109 in a 1977 Dunhill 51033 Root billiard that I fussed and frittered with, only finishing it a short while ago.
From todays Writers Almanac:
Today is Epiphany, the 12th day of Christmas. It celebrates the day when the three Magi visited Jesus and gave him the gifts of frankincense, myrrh, and gold.
Christmas Eve begins the 12 days of Christmas, so January 5th, the eve of Epiphany, is called Twelfth Night. William Shakespeare wrote a play for the festivities in 1602, which is why it is called Twelfth Night.
James Joyce's famous short story "The Dead" is set at a party for the Feast of the Epiphany. The story ends: "His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead."
It's the birthday of Edgar Lawrence Doctorow, E.L. Doctorow, born in New York City in 1931. He said, "Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia."
It's the birthday of St. Joan of Arc, born on this day in Domrémy, France (1412). Her parents were peasants. She never learned to read or write, but she loved church, loved to go sit and pray. And when she was 13, she heard the voices of saints, telling her to go and help defend France against the British.
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