Bossy-Slingbacks

As the new breadwinner of the family, I was accused last night of becoming a bossy-boots. I think the more accurate term is bossy-slingbacks. It's summer, after all. In winter I'll be the bossy-boots.I shall have to be careful not to abuse my new position of power. At least it's not absolute power, so I won't be corrupted absolutely.

This is the last day of captivity, so to speak, for MCR. Then a merry little Gay Day brunch tomorrow before heading off to the quaint parade here in Santa Fe. All 8 1/2 minutes of it. I say this with true affection, especially when I remember those Gay Days of yore being packed into the streetcar like sardines to go downtown for the massive, raucous parades that were exciting but also rather overwhelming for the little suburban family from Forest Hill. Maybe I'll wear my slingbacks.

Slouching Toward Summer

Halfway through June, more, really. Where does the time go? So beautifully hot and birdy and languid these days. Sometimes it does rather sound like the jungle out there with happy chirping all over the place and crickets at night. We've taken to meals al fresco — sign of summer. And the new rule (imposed by MCR) is that unless the temperature is 90 or above (rare) we use open windows in the car, not the AC. See how hardy we've become?

MCR is having oodles of fun reading Tales of the City and entertaining me with it as well. My current foray into crime and detective novels does not call to her at all, and I know better than to read out the juicy bits. Often our little reading worlds collide (usually with the South Pacific and my wars) but not now. Also, I'm reading bits of Stevie Smith's poetry. More on that later when I have something coherent to say.

And don't see the movie Atonement — it's too good and tragic and upsetting. MCR isn't allowed anywhere near it. It is haunting me now, and I need to watch something else to tone down its spectral presence.