Posts
I’ve just finished Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s Love in the Time of Cholera, and this sentence wants to stick with me for some reason:
Maybe it’s too easy to blame motherhood. It could be adult-onset ADHD.
Now onto 100 Years of Solitude.
And about those whores….
John’s inability to pronounce certain words correctly led to a profound misunderstanding last week. It went like this:
John: “Hannah and I are playing whore-land.”
Me: “Excuse me?”
John: “WE’RE PLAYING WHORE-LAND.”
Me: (exchanging bemused glances with Karl) “And what exactly happens in whore-land?”
John: “Well, there are whores and they have horns on their heads. Two horns.”
Me: “Why do they have horns?”
John: “Because all whores have horns.”
Me: “Where did you learn about whore-land?”
John: “In Goosebumps.”
At this point, I understood what was going on and cracked up. He was talking about horror land, something that comes up in the Goosebumps series, but the poor kid couldn’t say it right. Our main concern was that he’d play horror land at school, where mangling that word might get him in serious trouble with Sister Mary. For much of the week I worried I’d get one of her notes: “Must talk. John is playing whores at recess.”
Happy Sunday,
B.
“It was a meditation on life, love, old age, death:I don’t know why it grabs me the way it does, except maybe that motherhood makes me feel that way. Not only do the big ideas dissolve and trickle, but the little ones too: who was I supposed to call, what was I supposed to buy, where am I supposed to be tonight, etc. Reproduction has completely compromised my ability to hold any one thought in my head for too long before it flutters away.
ideas that had often fluttered around her head like nocturnal birds but dissolved into a trickle of feathers when she tried to catch hold of them.”
Maybe it’s too easy to blame motherhood. It could be adult-onset ADHD.
Now onto 100 Years of Solitude.
And about those whores….
John’s inability to pronounce certain words correctly led to a profound misunderstanding last week. It went like this:
John: “Hannah and I are playing whore-land.”
Me: “Excuse me?”
John: “WE’RE PLAYING WHORE-LAND.”
Me: (exchanging bemused glances with Karl) “And what exactly happens in whore-land?”
John: “Well, there are whores and they have horns on their heads. Two horns.”
Me: “Why do they have horns?”
John: “Because all whores have horns.”
Me: “Where did you learn about whore-land?”
John: “In Goosebumps.”
At this point, I understood what was going on and cracked up. He was talking about horror land, something that comes up in the Goosebumps series, but the poor kid couldn’t say it right. Our main concern was that he’d play horror land at school, where mangling that word might get him in serious trouble with Sister Mary. For much of the week I worried I’d get one of her notes: “Must talk. John is playing whores at recess.”
Happy Sunday,
B.
