My lip has an ouchie split place, and I think the blame can be placed entirely on opening my mouth wide enough for huge floofy bites of the kielbasa-and-greens salad, which I've been eating day after day as if the fields will run out of greens.
I'm reading a book in which a new character was described right away as African-American. We'd met many characters already, and none of them had been described in corresponding terms. That is, we had not met "Liz, a short Caucasian girl of mixed European descent" and "Anne, a plump Japanese-American girl." Just this one character, who was "Marissa, a tall and beautiful African-American girl."
I am not usually particularly sensitive to these things, I don't think: when someone else points them out I am immediately on-board, but often they go right past me without catching my attention. Well, unless they are blatant like in the 1960s Shocking Interracial Romance book my mother-in-law once lent me because it was her FAVORITE BOOK OF ALL TIME (ick alert: she gave her children the same names as the two hot-romance main characters), where the author couldn't mention the guy without using adjectives to describe his skin color.
But here's a riddle I couldn't solve, as an example of my usual lack of noticing: What is wrong with the sentence "He was in love with his neighbor's wife"? Take yer time. (The answer is that unless his neighbor's wife lives elsewhere, SHE IS ALSO HIS NEIGHBOR. He is in love WITH HIS NEIGHBOR. The sentence as written implies that the man of the couple is the only real neighbor.) [Edited to add: After all the comments about commandments/adultery connotations, I should add that the original puzzle was "He murdered his neighbor's wife." I changed it to be less gruesome, but perhaps I should have changed it to "He respected his neighbor's wife" or something.]
But anyway, this one caught my attention and bothered me, but maybe it is because I felt like I needed to pee at the time. And also, I started this section with "I'm reading a book..." but actually I'm not reading it anymore, because it was making me feel hopeless and weary with all its cutting social critique that didn't suggest any alternatives/solutions to what it was cuttingly criticizing.
I dreamed last night that my mother-in-law was alive (although I would say it like this: "ALIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVVVVVVVVE!!!") and visiting us and making arch remarks about things she thought I should take action on. I woke up feeling tired and headachy and full of suppressed impotent rage---but then relieved and grateful all over again. I really am very, very, very lucky to have been spared the path where she lived into her late 90s like her mother did, and I think of it often. And I'm using it as a reminder to try VERY HARD not to be a person whose death makes other people feel relieved and grateful and lucky, but if I keep being so irritable WE'LL SEE.
Gift ideas for an 8-year-old, part 2 of 2 - Last week I talked about the gifts we were getting/considering for Edward, who is turning 8 next month. This week it’s Elizabeth’s turn: not “girl gifts,” ...