I could not resist sharing these awesome culottes with you, Dear Readers.
This is NY Fashion Week, but of course these are the days of the coronavirus.
This is "Im Garifuna, descended from Indigenous Caribbean people and runaway slaves, and I grew up in a tiny village in the Mosquito Coast region of Honduras. Starting at 14, I’d ride the bus for 45 minutes from my village to a nearby factory. Like hundreds of other kids from the area, I earned $30 a week in exchange for working 16 hours a day, seven days a week, cutting fabric and sewing clothes that nobody from my village would ever wear."
Worst of all, there was the dust that caused major lung problems.
Be grateful, Readers, that Fate had us born in places that are hopefully safe.
Isn't Honduras the murder capital of the world?
...
This morning after I ate a bowl of delicious oatmeal, I took a long horrified look at all the mostly dead ants on the floor of my kitchen.
In 45 minutes I had swept most of them up, then scooped them up in my dust pan, and dumped em into my tall Rubbermaid container.
Queasy. Is that the right word for how I felt dealing with dead ants.
No. "Yucked-out" is a better word.
...
We had our Writing Group this morning. Folks liked EILEEN'S CLOTHES: FROM MILDRED AVENUE TO THE NURSING HOME.
It's not a sentimental piece. I stuck to the facts.
...
When I get up in the morning I think, There must be something I can do to feel good about myself, now that my parents are dead and I have absolutely no job.
I did find something in Willow Grove Patch. I'll ask no one, but simply submit my name. Gotta make sure my resume is okay.
...
DEEP BREATHS
A friend of mine I'll call Marilynn is in the hospital
She had a Pacemaker installed.
Installed in her chest. Under anesthesia I'd imagine.
The woman is young, younger than me.
Here I sit in my upstairs office, breathing easily
through my nostrils and out through my mouth.
May the Almighty preserve me. S'ils vous plait.
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