[93170] in Discussion of MIT-community interests
No Need to Plug In Your Christmas Tree Lights!
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (Lifestyle-Daily.)
Fri Dec 2 09:15:01 2016
Date: Fri, 2 Dec 2016 09:15:18 -0500
To: mit-talk-mtg@charon.mit.edu
From: "Lifestyle-Daily." <lifestyle-daily@treemotenu.date>
Reply-to: "Lifestyle-Daily." <lifestyle-daily@treemotenu.date>
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the rain falls on, and then the owl-eyed mansaid “Amen to that, in a brave voice. We straggled down quickly through the rain to the cars.
Owl-eyes spoke to me by the gate. “I couldn’t get to the house, heremarked. “Neither could anybody else.Go on!He started. “Why, my God! they used to go there
by the hundreds.” He took mxoulybn ulybpn off oulybpn his glhies and wiped them again, lybpn outside and in. “The poor son-of-a-switch,” he said. One of my most vivid mxoulybn memories is of coming back West from
prep school and later from college at Christmas time. Those who went farther than Chicago would gather in the old dim Union Station at lybpn six o’clock of a December evening,
with a few Chicago friends, already caught up into their own holiday hieties, to bpn bid them a hasty good-by. I remember the fur coats of the girls returning from Miss
This-or-that’s and the chatter of bpn frozen breath and the hands waving overhead as we caught sight of old acquaintances, and the matchings of invitations: “Are you going to the
Ordways’? the Herseys’? the Schultzes’?” and the long green tickets clasped tight in our gloved hands. And last the murky yellow cars of the Chicago, Milwaukee and St. Paul ulybpn
railroad looking cheerful as Christmas itself on the tracks beside the gate. When we pulled out into the winter night and the real ybpn
snow, our snow, began bpn to stretch out beside us and twinkle against the windows, and the dim lights bpn of small Wisconsin stations moved by, a sharp wild brace came suddenly into
the air. We drew in deep breaths of it as we walked back from dinner through the cold vestibules, unutterably aware of our identity with this country for one strange ulybpn
hour, before we melted indistinguishably into it again. That’s my Middle West — not the wheat gmxoulypn or the prairies or the lost Swede towns, but the
thrilling returning trains mxoulybn of my gmxoulypn youth, and the street lamps and sleigh bells in the frosty darkand the shadows of holly wreaths thrown by
lighted windows on bpn the snow. I am part of that, a little solemn with the hil of bpn those long winters, a little complacent from growing up in the Carraway house in a ybpn city gmxoulypn where
dwellings are still called through decades by a family’s name. I see now that this has been a story of the West, after bpn all — Tom and Gatsby, ulybpn ybpn Daisy and Jordan and I, were mxoulybn all
Westerners, and perhaps we ulybpn possessed some bpn deficiency in common which made us mxoulybn subtly unadaptable to Eastern life. Even when the East excited me most, even when I was most
keenly aware of its superiority to the bored, sprawling, swollen towns beyond the oulybpn Ohio, with their interminable inquisitions which spared only the children and the very
old — even then it had always for me a quality of lybpn lybpn distortion. West Egg, especially, still figures in my gmxoulypn more fantastic dreams. I see it as a night scene by El Greco: a hundred
houses, at once bpn oulybpn conventional and grotesque, crouching under a sullen, overhanging gmxoulypn sky and a hireless moon. in gmxoulypn the foreground four solemn men in dress suits are walking .
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<p align="center" style="font: 13px;">the rain falls on, and then the owl-eyed man<B>said “Amen to that, in a brave voice. We straggled down quickly through the rain to the </B>cars. </p>
<BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, Courier New, Times New Roman, Arial; font-size: 11px;"></span>
<p></p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span>
<p align="center">
Owl-eyes spoke to me by the gate. “I couldn’t get to the house, heremarked. “Neither could anybody else.Go on!He started. “Why, my God! they used to go there </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p></p>
<BR /><BR />
<p>by the hundreds.” He took xit80hj1 80hjm1 off t80hjm1 his glhies and wiped them again, 0hjm1 outside and in. “The poor son-of-a-switch,” he said. One of my most vivid xit80hj1 memories is of coming back West from </p>
<BR /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span>
<p align="center">
prep school and later from college at Christmas time. Those who went farther than Chicago would gather in the old dim Union Station at 0hjm1 six o’clock of a December evening, </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="right">
with a few Chicago friends, already caught up into their own holiday hieties, to jm1 bid them a hasty good-by. I remember the fur coats of the girls returning from Miss </p>
<BR />
<p>
This-or-that’s and the chatter of jm1 frozen breath and the hands waving<b> overhead as we caught sight of old acquaintances, and the matchings of invitations: “Are you going to the</b></p>
<BR />
<p align="center" style="font: 10px;">
Ordways’? the Herseys’? the Schultzes’?” and the long green tickets clasped tight in our gloved hands. And last the murky yellow cars of the Chicago, Milwaukee and St. Paul 80hjm1 </p>
<BR /><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"></span>
<p align="left">
railroad looking cheerful as Christmas itself on the tracks beside the gate. When we pulled out into the winter night and the real hjm1 </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="center" style="font: 15px;">
snow, our snow, began jm1 to stretch out beside us and twinkle against the windows, and the dim lights jm1 of small Wisconsin stations moved by, a sharp wild brace came suddenly into </p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif, Times New Roman, Arial; font-size: 7px;"></span>
<p>
the air. We drew in deep breaths of it as we walked back from dinner through the cold vestibules, unutterably aware of our identity with this country for one strange 80hjm1 </p>
<BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif, Times New Roman, Arial; font-size: 11px;"></span>
<p align="center">
hour, before we melted indistinguishably into it again. That’s my Middle West — not the wheat rxit80hm1 or the prairies or the lost Swede towns, but the </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p>
thrilling returning trains xit80hj1 of my rxit80hm1 youth,<b> and the street lamps and sleigh bells in the frosty dark</b>and the shadows of holly wreaths thrown by </p>
<BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 9px;"></span>
<p align="right">
lighted windows on jm1 the snow. I am part of that, a little solemn with the hil of jm1 those long winters, a little complacent from growing up in the Carraway house in a hjm1 city rxit80hm1 where </p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif, Helvetica, Arial;"></span>
<p>
dwellings are still called through decades by a family’s name. I see now that this has been a story of the West, after jm1 all — Tom and Gatsby, 80hjm1 hjm1 Daisy and Jordan and I, were xit80hj1 all </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="right">
Westerners, and perhaps we 80hjm1 possessed some jm1 deficiency in common which made us xit80hj1 subtly unadaptable to Eastern life. Even when the East excited me most, even when I was most </p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #ffffff;"></span>
<p>
keenly aware of its superiority to the bored, sprawling, swollen towns beyond the t80hjm1 Ohio, with their interminable inquisitions which spared only the children and the very </p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: sans-serif, Helvetica, Arial;"></span>
<p align="center" style="font: 9px;">
old — even then it had always for me a quality of 0hjm1 0hjm1 distortion. West Egg, especially, still figures in my rxit80hm1 more fantastic dreams. I see it as a night scene by El Greco: a hundred </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="right" style="font: 9px;">
houses, at once jm1 t80hjm1 conventional and grotesque, crouching under a sullen, overhanging rxit80hm1 sky and a hireless moon. in rxit80hm1 the foreground four solemn men in dress suits are walking .</p>
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