Day 266: Mr. Claire Williams

In Ohio, someone has decided that I am an adult. It is unclear why, precisely, it seems to have happened this year, but one could guess that an impending quarter century birthday has woken my relatives up to the fact that I can, amazingly, now read chapter books. As a result of being said adult, they have shown me all the fancy hand me downs for the first time.

More so, the relatives are so excited for some of the major life steps I will take in the years to come that they have offered to GIVE me some the assorted loot to take such steps. As the oldest grandchild on both sides, I have a lot of options. For starters, there are 3 engagement rings, 1 wedding dress, and 8 newly handmade baby quilts. I loved used stuff, and although I have no need for any of these things yet, it is fun to look and dream for one day.

Tangentially, I was at a real thrift store yesterday (not a relative's actual attic; this one is the one with the real goodies because it's where the doctors' wives take their stuff) with one of my grandmothers. She was doing what most grandmothers do best, which is brag. The particular topic of this rant was about how I don't realize how unusual and lucky I am to have four grandparents who were all college educated. The connected point is that I will apparently be smart due to my "keen genes".

To confirm her point, although it did not actually confirm her point, nor did the point need confirming as I indeed know my grandparents went to college, she later showed me an interesting book on her shelf entitled, Easy Gourmet from Stanford: Compiled by the Mothers Club of Stanford University, 1969.

I looked through the whole thing mostly to see if I could find any last names (i.e. grandparents) I might know. Because, like my mother, I went to this school. I did find one, who, like 90% of the names in the book was listed as Mrs. Husband's Last Name. In other things-that-change-with-time news, the only Mexican recipe was for Enchilada Casserole. Needless the say, the addition of the word "casserole" semi-negates the Mexican-ness of the whole thing.

It is time to go now, specifically to the Dollar Store, and then to the Beauty Parlor. Last year, I told the women at the Beauty Parlor that someone (me?) should write their Anthropology PhD dissertation on women's identity politics as evidenced in beauty parlor shops America over. It's not clear to me that they got that. But I think that is pretty much my life theme. People Not Getting It and all.

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