I have issues with the 'close reading' technique. Omitting context in any discipline is a tragedy and a farce.

On edit, I should add that I don't give a rat's patootie how trendy a method might be. Look how well new math and whole language turned out!

But we'll manage!

I got new batteries for my mechanical dog that barks and spins around; a light on his beanie head flashes and he sings like Barney. It makes Brigid - the JRT - so mad that she barks savagely, so I only turn on Barfy twice a day.

Hope you and your family have a lovely Thanksgiving.

Sometimes when there are multiples, my evil twin sister signs one.

Was to never stand at the edge of the platform. If anyone fell or got pushed off, those people were it. On the second row you still weren't entirely safe. Third row was ideal because they never got pushed off and always managed to get on their train even during rush hour. Fourth row might have to wait for the next one. There's something creepy about using fellow humans as shields.

But I once nursed the father of the archeologist widely considered the inspiration for the fictional Indiana Jones. Robin somebodyorother. Got to meet him, and he was very nice. Suspected of being involved with the CIA.

denomination, but one a few years ago stopped letting female Sunday School teachers have young male students, since women supposedly are not to teach men. One reason I loved Mother Theresa was because she told the Pope to his face that women should be allowed to be priests, and what's more we'd be better at it than men. I've lived to see many other 'impossibilities'. Maybe I'll get to see that too before I check out.

The JRT is slick as a billiard ball so she doesn't like to stay out long at a time. An hour or so in, then out 5 minutes and thankfully she barks at the door to remind me to let her back in. I figure she's the best judge of how much cold she can take.

Since the UMC held a community Thanksgiving dinner tonight, I stepped almost next door for dinner. Well, I helped cook it, went over at 11 this morning to play galley slave. Luckily I got to whip potatoes with the brand new professional stand mixer. On high speed I couldn't hear the mostly friendly arguing that went on about the kitchen. It was cold walking over there, cold coming back, and neither was comparable to the temps going and coming tonight. Small price to pay for such a nice dinner, though. A little elbow grease and a 3-block round trip walk twice.

I enjoyed eating deliberately, watching people mill around, and listening to the table talk. It felt weird when one person pointed me out as the letter writer in this week's paper. Everyone seemed to have something to say about letter and writer, but none of it directly to me when I was sitting right there at the same table, smiling my best 'I don't bite' grin. Nothing they said was mean, probably not intentionally rude, and it only amused me; just the way a lot of people are around here. Raised in a barn.

Anyway, there's a big bookcase in the social hall and I found a recent addition, a 1968 book on MLK, so I scooped that up and took it home with me to re-read. I like reading the best books over again a decade or several later, knowing I'll have a different perspective.