7. Permanence. Heavy furniture, the kind that couldn't possibly be moved every semester. Huge clocks that have not been in summer storage for decades. Rugs that have been walked on in all seasons. Matching place-settings, for more than four people. Endless cups for tea. Art on the walls. Time for dreaming.

8. Music. Sound echoes wonderfully up and down three stories, out of a study, past the previously all-important boundaries of the room. It comes in and out of doors and into the kitchen where you are busy dissecting the obscure machinery (see #5). No one else is studying, no one else is singing along. This is how Bach and Orbital were meant to sound.

9. Breakfast. Again, the decadence is in the preparation. First, the survey of goods: oranges, pears, eggs, various kinds of cheese and sausage, two kinds of flour, four kinds of sugar, appropriate spices, pots and pans of all sizes and appropriate machinery. Second, the slow and deliberate assembly (see #4). Finally, the open-ended consumption of the meal: half-an-omelette, walk the dog, read the paper, crepe, bubble bath, write a paper, walk the dog, hot chocolate with steamed milk, write column...

10. Distance. There is nothing like a commute to create the idea of home. Though the walk to the house is not long it has, this weekend, been entirely full of rain in both directions. Each will to leave (excluding the walks around the block: see #6) is a deliberate venture into the world. As a resident of a river House, these details of journey are fascinating.

As you all return to real houses, I wish you all a happy winter break. May it be full of decadence, obscure machinery, excellent food, thunderstorms, camaraderie and, where appropriate, delimited lists.

Maryanthe E. Malliaris '01 is a mathematics concentrator in Lowell House. Her column appears on alternate Mondays.