Archive for the 'Moom' Category

Personal Growth

Sunday, February 10th, 2008

Ernestine’s Shawl, unblocked

Sometimes it actually happens.

I, for the first time ever, made a shawl for someone else.

Did I mention that it’s not for me?

Did I mention that it’s ORANGE and it’s not for me?

Did I mention that I designed it and it’s not for me?

Er…have I yet mention for whom I actually made it?? Because it’s for a beautiful Sénégalese woman named Ernestine Diatta, who just happens to be my host mother.

Now I just have to block it, but I made sure to tell her that it’s hers so I can’t selfishly change my mind.

p.s. Moom?? I’ll finish it when I come home. I swear!! I loooooveee you!!


The strangest thing just happened.  I know why, but it’s still ridiculous.  I was typing away happily, when suddenly my nice comfortable French keyboard decided that it would much prefer to type in English.  Isn’t that a great idea?  So.  Now I’m being forced to recall the English keyboard muscle memory.  Why did this happen? I’m finishing a project. Of course.

Anyway, I wanted to point out that I am not swayed toward voting for someone who places their trust in winning the election on the statement “I majored in miracles, and I still believe in them.”  I don’t want to wait around for miracles; I want people to make changes.  Not that I’d be voting for Huckabee anyway…

Dead Things*

Thursday, January 31st, 2008
What’s the most interesting dead thing you’ve seen lately?
Because I’ve been seeing a lot of dead things.
Every time I see a dead thing I think about the states, and how dogs and cats are pets. And then I lie to myself about how we clean up our roadkill and other Dead Things, which for the most part we don’t.  It sort of depends on the size of the thing.
Every once in a while a dog gets hit (or dies on its own because of god-knows-what kind of insect-born infection) and the lies in the road partition for a week or two while everyone ignores it. I can always feel my face wrinkling as I concentrate on trying not to look, smell, or otherwise acknowledge the rotting masses.  And also not to step in them, which can be more difficult than it sounds.  After a while they flatten a bit and turn the color of dust like everything else.
What do we do with our roadkill when we *do* dispose of it? The other month I saw a recently-hit dead cat lying in the road, noting with morbid interest that it was probably a new addition to the road’s decor.  The next day, walking past the same stretch of road, I saw that it had disappeared-only to realize a moment later that the corpse, having fully passed into the state of rigor mortis and beginning to bloat, was sticking haphazardly out of a trash can.  Interesting.
I routinely step on a sheep jawbone in front of tailor boutique, and the other day a leg fell out of the freezer (causing my mother to shout “it’s a leg!!”).  The bones and fur of a particularly gross dead cat decorate my morning route to the university, along with a trail of intestine that reaches into the street.
Just, you know, a point of interest.  Something to think about while I sulk because it’s already getting hot again.
p.s. I have a new friend and skin parasite.  His name is Albert, and he’s been renting living space on my back.  We’re not getting along very well; he doesn’t like to clean and he’s making me itch.  He never signed a contract either, making him a squatter. When I noticed him I thought he might be in the process of moving out, but then he decided that he has the liberty to take over more space which is definitely not true. Ringworm is so pretentious. Now I’ve got his fungus-y number and he’ll be out withing the week, Inchallah.
p.p.s. Dearest, most darling mother, see how I’ve grown??  Far from sleeping with my bedroom door open because I’m afraid to think about things decomposing, I step in rotten cats and on jawbones in the street.
*The previously mentioned letter, posted in it’s entirety on the repeated request of Moom.  Sheesh!!  Also, Albert is disappearing.  In case anyone was curious…