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Lamas, Social Workers, and Sluts
Jan. 17th, 2019 05:51 amMy lamas keep bringing me treats!
We’re still on Martin Luther King though next week we switch to Valentine’s Day.
Church was one of today’s vocabulary words.
“Do you know what a church is?” I asked Norbu.
“A Christian temple,” he said.
###
Ed strolled on by after I got home, and we chatted about taxes, and sealing wax, and kings for a couple of hours.
Pat is essentially gone for the next six months. Up in Providence, playing nanny to the new grandbaby Rowan (nice name!) and Ed is kind of lost without her. Which is good! To my mind, Ed complains entirely too much about Pat.
We were chatting about a mutual acquaintance. Was this mutual acquaintance depressed?
“Well, you know, I was trained as a social worker,” Ed said. “So, I never listen to what people say. I look at how they behave. And yeah—he’s depressed.”
June Miller ended up as a social worker, which is one of the reasons I wanted to write a novel about her. I mean, along with the Zelda Fitzgerald angle—Zelda’s more marketable than Scott these days—and the obvious appeal that the ultimate male-objectified heroine might have to the #MeToo crowd. Self-absorbed slut to compassionate social worker is a remarkable trajectory even if it does span 50 years.
Other than that, another grey day in a seemingly endless series of grey days.
We’re still on Martin Luther King though next week we switch to Valentine’s Day.
Church was one of today’s vocabulary words.
“Do you know what a church is?” I asked Norbu.
“A Christian temple,” he said.
###
Ed strolled on by after I got home, and we chatted about taxes, and sealing wax, and kings for a couple of hours.
Pat is essentially gone for the next six months. Up in Providence, playing nanny to the new grandbaby Rowan (nice name!) and Ed is kind of lost without her. Which is good! To my mind, Ed complains entirely too much about Pat.
We were chatting about a mutual acquaintance. Was this mutual acquaintance depressed?
“Well, you know, I was trained as a social worker,” Ed said. “So, I never listen to what people say. I look at how they behave. And yeah—he’s depressed.”
June Miller ended up as a social worker, which is one of the reasons I wanted to write a novel about her. I mean, along with the Zelda Fitzgerald angle—Zelda’s more marketable than Scott these days—and the obvious appeal that the ultimate male-objectified heroine might have to the #MeToo crowd. Self-absorbed slut to compassionate social worker is a remarkable trajectory even if it does span 50 years.
Other than that, another grey day in a seemingly endless series of grey days.
