"anyone lived in a pretty how town..."
MILLIE'S NOOK (identified for those of you who skim through anecdotes):
#1. Millie, clad in underwear and rubber boots: I went shoppin', Mom.
Me, clad with modesty: What did you buy, babe?
Millie, displaying the invisible contents of her armful: Bananas and eggs and cheese and chicken.
Me: Did you buy anything else?
Millie: Um, yets. Milk and monkey food.
Me: Why'd you buy monkey food?
Millie: For the monkey.
[Of COURSE...]
#2. Scene--I am busy while Millie and Annika play quietly in the living room. Millie, voice ringing with such conviction that I leave my task...: It is very yummy, Anka.
Clincher--I enter the room to see Millie chewing on a pine cone.
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For Holly--Providentially looking out my window just now, I saw a girl walk past who is whiter than me. Yesterday, I was outside for 30 minutes in the late-afternoon sun and got a touch of sunburn. I wonder if sunbonnets will ever make a comeback...
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One more virtue of a one-bedroom apartment.
Now that spring sun warms the air, we have no need to install the sauna. Yesterday, I referred to the girls as my "sweathearts" instead of my "sweethearts," which, as anyone would agree, imply two very different things.
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One virtue of living in town.
Our backyard is a child's wonderland due to the close proximity of other people's garbage piles and their penchant for tossing out wonderful slides, teeter totters, and toys. [See one evidence of such in today's snapshots.]
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Our garden is still dirt, stones, shards of glass, and nothing else. We are going to borrow a rototiller again this year from our landlord's father but haven't received it yet. Luckily, it doesn't take too long to till and plant, given the limitations of our garden's size. A few days is enough for tilling and seed-sowing.
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blank controversy.
4 comments :
I am bemused and somewhat horrified that the first thing you thought of when blinded by the white, was me. That means somehow in your mind whenever think of extreme whiteness I pop into your head. Although I'm pleased to know that somehow I've managed to work myself deep in there, that kind of free association makes me nervous. What if sometime in our addled old age you see an Asian and you think back to your ol' pal Holly.
Holly...hmm...white...wasn't she some really white girl?
Suddenly my sunny zestiness is bleached clean as bones with time. I'm the albino of your future!
You are one of the first people I think of when I contemplate my pastiness. (This must be due to conversations in college when you would exclaim about the blinding glare.)
And no, you don't have pasty skin, nor are you a blonde cheerleader-type, as I recall someone mistakenly imagining you...You, my dear, are the zestiest Asian I know.
When we were in college it wasn't (and still isn't) so much exclamations over your "pastiness" as in over ebullient awe of your alabaster skin.
I am grateful that your words transform my pastiness into a thing of loveliness. It is amazing, isn't it, that similar words connote such different things? I'll gladly have alabaster skin (even if the sun sprinkles freckles on it in the summer months...)
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