I haven't had anything to say here about the earthquake in Haiti. I had the good sense to be held back by the fact that I don't know much about the region. And I think that my contribution to relief fundraising is to stay out of the way. But I'm not too shy to link. Here is a piece that touches on Haiti's national origin and the colonial history that have led it to its current shabby political state. I don't know that I would agree with Mintz's conclusions but I think the history of this nation of self-freed slaves should be wider known in the US. Right after we learn our own history we can branch out and take on the Caribbean.
Edwidge Danticat wrote a one page piece in The New Yorker about finding out what happened to her friends and family in Haiti after the quake. It's quick and darted right through my heart.
I have been fascinated by this writer's name for years. It is a well-balanced mouthful. Edwidge sounds Dutch to me: dutiful, brawny and awkward. Danticat sounds like a particularly graceful Pokemon critter. Together I find the rhythm captivating: dum dah, dum ti dah. Bless her and the Haitians and the helpers.
Turning from the human loss amid natural disaster, you'll be relieved to know that my turn on the spit of cookie sales is almost done. I have to wrest the money from the remaining parents and fork it over to the regional GS moms this weekend. I'm looking forward to counting the moolah and checking the boxes. And bidding it all goodbye. I believe I have helped our troop's leader. Which brings a glow. If I do it again I'm going to invent a cocktail ritual. Perhaps that would cut down on the stress dreams.
An excerpt from Sundry's report on her first day back at college:
(I) surreptitiously peeked at my fellow students and tried to determine if I was in fact the oldest person in the room. (Answer: maybe the second oldest, but I had cute shoes on so I win over the slovenly sweatpants-wearing 19-year-olds, right? Why isn’t there a Twibbon for these poor young people, outfitted in what amounts to a droopy Snuggie with random words emblazoned across their poop-holes and their personal body parts threatening to emerge? #PRAYERS4URASSCRACK).Ah yes, the slovenliness of the undergraduate. I'm there with you sister. However flipflop season has not yet returned so I will save my rants for when I see the barely shod and their often nasty* feet everywhere I go.
*And I'm not even foot phobic. There must be scads of footphobes who make sure to stay far away from college campuses and all the grubby feet. Even when those feet look neat and are pedicured to within an inch of their lives, they're often in contact with the filthy ground. Because flipflops are not shoes! Or even sandals! So much for saving that for later.