When I first started this blog, I wrote a post in which I noted my deep appreciation for the existence of rest stops with bathrooms. There have been several more posts where the bathroom gets a shout out. I don't want to think too hard about what that may say about me. I wrote a short homily regarding my love of the mute button, too. All these things can go onto my things that I am grateful for list once I get around to writing such a thing. And while a public library starred in another post, I don't believe I have expressed my appreciation for the thing that is the public library. Quite the oversight on my part.
As I write this, I am out of town, needing a place to sit and write. Wanting to sit in a quiet place. A place where I don't have to spend any more money. A place where no one will bother me. A place that is temperature controlled. I need a public library. And, guess what? I found one, and it has all the things I need. If the library had provided a place to sit and not provided a clean restroom, dayenu. If it had provided a clean restroom and not provided books, dayenu. If it had provided books, and not provided computers to use free of charge, dayenu. If it had provided computers free of charge, and not provided a study room, dayenu. If it had provided a study room, and not provided WiFi, dayenu. If it had provided WiFi, and not been open on weekends, dayenu. If it had been open on weekends, and not shown work from local artists, dayenu. If it had shown work from local artist, and not had a children's program, dayenu. If it had had a children's program and not had a DVD collection, dayenu. If it had a DVD collection and not had a knowledgeable staff, dayenu. I need to stop. Not because I have run out of things to say, but because the list could keep going on and on. I also need to stop because I have the tune of Dayenu stuck in my head. Maybe there is somewhere I could find a book to read to distract myself. Maybe indeed.
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I have been wanting to do this exercise for a while in an exploration of how genders are portrayed in different genres. I took a randomly selected scene from a romance novel. A genre that relies heavily on reinforcing gender roles. I kept everything the same but I flipped the original genders (and changed the names) of the characters. Here is what came of it. Although not great writing to start with, I think it more interesting in its new form. I will let you draw your own conclusions.
Read on, my friends - Jon stepped out to the kitchen garden with his basket, determined to fill it with the runner beans he’d spied yesterday. He looked up after picking the first handful to see his wife clad in a short indigo jacket and dark pants that clung to her legs, walking up from the westward hills. She was bareheaded, carried her rifle over her shoulder, and was followed by a long-haired setter. John watched Eliza come, his feelings a mixture of anger and relief. The shot that had awoken him at dawn had terrified him. Madeline and Harriett had gone to investigate and returned saying that they’d found nothing. No Eliza, no intruder, no bag of food, nothing. John had not been able to sleep again, fearing bloodshed and Eliza gone forever. Now he was sandy-eyed and a bit annoyed that Eliza should stroll casually through the garden gate as though nothing was wrong. As Eliza neared him, John admitted even in his anger that in the foreign clothes Eliza looked quite delectable. Her tanned skin gave him an exotic touch, and the trousers, hugging her to her ankles, outlined every muscle of leg and buttock. The short jacket gaped open over a thin white shirt, which fit snugly to her tanned chest. John cleared his throat, “Good morning, Eliza.” Eliza lowered the rifle and stood its butt on the ground. “You’re out early.” “I was awakened early by a shot.” She nodded. “That was me. But the only casualty was a bit o’ twine.” John closed his eyes, letting out his pent-up breath. “Eliza.” Eliza touched his cheek, and he opened his eyes to find her gazing down at him, her gray eyes warm. “There was no need to worry, lad. I’m very good at taking care of myself.” “That might be true, but…” “I hoped to find you in bed.” John’s heard jumped then settled down to a hurried thrum. He tried to shrug. “Vegetables still grow in this garden. They’ve gone a bit wild, but they’re here. I thought I’d gather some to help Madeline cooking for everyone.” Babbling helped, but he could not stop gazing at her taut thighs and the think bulge the trousers didn’t bother to hide. Eliza waited until he’d run down. “Where is Peter?” “With Madeline. Helping her with the goat.”[....] Eliza leaned to him, holding the rifle out of the way. Her body heat touched his through the clothes, the cloth warmed by her. She kissed him, her skin smelling of wind, cold, and silk. “Finish picking your vegetables,” she said. She kissed his forehead, lifted her gun, and strode into the house. I am impatient. Once I make a decision about something, I want it to happen on my timeline. This has gotten worse with age, I think. Or perhaps with the advent of the internet? Or simply because? I don't know why, but I find myself annoyed by any number of little things. As it is with these situations, my reaction is almost always disproportionate to the event. That does not stop my teeth from grinding in the moment. From little to big things, I keep being surprised that the world does not turn on my whim. (I think there is a saying about insanity and expectations but I am going to pretend that it does not pertain to this subject.) There are multiple moments that can annoy: the internet going down just as I am about to make a credit card transaction, the line at the grocery store being held up because someone wants to buy a carton of cigarettes, and so many other daily inconveniences.
Yet I have made peace with the tractors. There are many roads in our area that are two lane and defiantly painted with two solid yellow lines. Not a lot of opportunities for passing. There are also lots of fields and farms which means a lot of opportunities for tractors. In case you are not familiar with tractors, they don't move very fast. They are often quite wide and generally inconvenient on highways. They are not made for passing on two lane roads with solid yellow lines and oncoming traffic coming at just the perfect interval to discourage illegal passing. Getting behind a tractor can easily add 10 to 20 minutes to a trip. I used to sit in my car seething in frustration when I found myself driving behind a tractor. I would end up at my destination late and in a bad mood. This did not make the tractor go any faster nor did it make my trip any shorter. One day I got annoyed at being annoyed and decided that the tractor situation was an "is" and that was nothing I could do about it. Now as I travel down the country roads, stuck for any number of miles behind a tractor, I breathe deep, relax behind the wheel, and think philosophically about the fact that at least I know why I am going slowly. But a carton of cigarettes? Really? Why does it have to be such a production and why do I always end up in the check out lane behind the smokers? My shoulders get tense just thinking about it. |
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