Friday was a holiday!

I wasn't a slacker! It was a holiday, people. Matt and I were in Gettysburg learning way too much about 1860s war.
Tomorrow: "W." Oh, What Will I say?

Victory

Victory Stefanski was the third daughter of third-generation Polish-immigrant parents; her name was more a weak prayer of acceptance, less a defiant, red-and-blue bouquet.

Unexpected, Usurp

Unexpected news came today: Martha Johnson, the old lady who ran the little store on the way to the cabin, died this morning while sitting in her favorite chair.

Terrible

"Terrible" is the things we do to one another in the name of belief, or the belief that other ideas somehow invalidate our own.

(Forgive the proselytizing, it's just what came to mind!)

Slip

"Slip," she said, as if checking the word off a list; as if something that stunned Erik's eyes with its sliding heen and beauty, something that whispered over his mother's fingers and seemed to call out to be touched, could be reduced to a single syllable, a dismissal from her lips.

Relinquish

Relinquishing some of those ideas -- that you should have driven the whole way last night, that he really does still love you, that your mother is a whore -- is the only path to claiming who you are.

Quince, quantify, quintuplets, quazar

It took me four days to accrue 50(ish) words that begin with "Q," and two days to regain my computer and write a sentence that begins with one.

Quince do not grow here, the crusty old man said, quince come from the valleys outside of town.