“She dribbles cranberry sauce on her dress, and she talks with her mouth full. I hate that.”
Her mother didn’t say anything.
“And she forgets my name. I hate that, too.”
Her mother didn’t say anything. She put mashed potatoes into a yellow bowl. Anastasia started to cry. A salt-flavored tear came down the side of her face and into the corner of her mouth; she tasted it with the tip of her tongue, and waited for the next one.
“I don’t hate grandmother,” she said in a voice that had to find its way out lopsided, around the tears. “But I hate that she’s so old.
“It makes my heart hurt.”
Her mother took a paper napkin from the kitchen table, knelt on the floor beside Anastasia, daubed at her wet cheeks with the napkin, and put her arms around her.
“All of our hearts hurt,” she said. They went together to wake up Anastasia’s father, and the three of them helped the grandmother to the table, where they sat her in the best chair, the one with the arms. They all smiled when the old woman recognized her favorite plate, touched the blue flowers fondly, and said, “Forget-me-nots.”
When I tell people that I’m basically a Child Lit major (easier/sounds less pompous than “I concentrate on the Cultural Implications of Modern American Children’s Literature”) they usually cock their head, kind of like my dog Max does when he’s confused (which is a lot), and say “Oh. That’s nice.”
I’m tired of that. Nobody cocks their head and says “That’s nice.” to an 18th Century Literature scholar, but which books matter more in the everyday persons life? The spark notes of Great Expectations they read in 10th grade? Or the book they read late at night under the covers when they were eight, because they just couldn’t put it down?
So I thought I’d share tidbits from the books I’m reading for my classes this semester. The beautiful bits that you just can’t find in adult literature.
After a crazy awful hectic week I finally feel like I have everything sorted. I’m caught up on reading, I spent a considerable chunk of the weekend babysitting my awesome nyc kids (and playing a great g-rated version of 10 fingers. hilarious) and I’ve planned my first program! Yay! Life is calm.
If you were wondering this morning what my dream dinnerware would be, this is it:
Just so you know.
I often find myself almost giving to charities that help issues near and dear to my heart, but then always think “I’ll do it when I have more money.”
The thing is, I have food, an apartment, and even extra money to sometimes buy a pretty top or go on a (admittedly highly budgeted) vacation. If I don’t start now, will I always be saying “Once I pay off my loans” or “After my next raise?”
So this year. Start small. Over the course of the year, at least $75 to charity. It doesn’t have to be all at once, and it doesn’t have to be one charity. I’m thinking of starting by adopting a penguin. I do love penguins.
We made it to the other side of the 19 inches of snow, and it’s beautiful out.
It’s hard to eat on the cheap like I’m trying to when your ID card with your free meal plan on it doesn’t work.