Thanksgiving Weekend Update

Well, since I last posted, some guarded optimism has slipped into my political outlook. Granted, I don't think I've done nearly enough to fight the fascism in America, especially since I read the title and jacket blurb on Alice Walker's latest book: We Are The Ones We Have Been Waiting For. That about sums it up: we're the ones who are helping to run the show, if not actively, then by our complicity. I don't want any potential nieces or nephews looking at me in fifteen, twenty years saying, "You really fucked the world up, didn't you?" Of course, they may say that anyway, barring a return to Eden, but at least I don't want to find myself agreeing with them.

Thanksgiving went by relatively painlessly. We went out, and I made a point of not ordering the turkey and much to my surprise, niether did my mother. We both had some prime cut of something with a far more expressive face than a turkey's, and I enjoyed every bite. My sister spent most of the time talking about her job (she's a music teacher in a Catholic school), which is nice, because then I didn't have to talk about mine because I never have much to say about librarianship except when it goes wrong. Okay, so that last sentence was rather tortured, but nobody's reading anyway. Mom and I went to see The Queen while Dad worked and my sister partied with friends who still live in town. We also celebrated Dad and my sister's birthdays with presents, ice cream, and cake. I like ice cream and cake. The presents were recieved well, though since I gave books, the real verdict isn't in yet. Mom has suggested that Dad has enough books that he hasn't read, and to get him something else for Christmas. I looked at ties at Carson Pirie Scott this morning, but I keep seeing books that I think Dad would like. The perils of being required to read book catalogs professionally; people wish they had my problems. I had to return to Chicago to work my shift on Saturday, and then my sister came up and spent a night with me while attending a wedding. We went and saw The Fountain, which I really enjoyed and my sister merely said was typical Aronofsky. Maybe it wasn't a great movie, but it was fun to look at and the story held together well enough. Besides, it takes balls of brass to make something that ambitious and that different from your previous work that young. I'll just say one more thing on that subject, to quote Buffy the Vampire Slayer: "Fire bad. Tree pretty."

So my sister goes back to California via O'Hare much later than I would have suggested, and I got the apartment back to myself. I didn't realize how much I value my solitude. It means I don't have to do anything I don't want to, like getting things out of piles and into their proper places. Or throwing out the old, broken printer. Or being able to see the surface of the dining room table. Yup, I'm a slob. A slob who values her privacy, so what am I doing blogging? Ah, well. I need to make sure I wake up in the morning, so I will say more about my sister tomorrow, on her twenty-eighth birthday.