Sep. 5th, 2017

went to the grocery store this afternoon. for some reason, maybe the time, maybe that i haven’t gone to this particular grocery store in a while, it was a more racially-diverse crowd than normal. (Buffalo is extremely segregated; I’m much more likely to see Indian/South Asian people than Black people, in my local neighborhood, but in the last five years or so the lines have been blurring. IDK what the stats are, but the most recent census was kind of startlingly clear-cut.)

apropos of not much, some tiny vignettes of people-watching:

a Black dad was pushing one of those carts with the two child seats and two steering wheels. One of his little boys was turning the wheel at random like little kids do, but the other one was steering like he actually knew how to steer a thing, quite competently, and I believe that child really thought he was genuinely steering the cart. (Later, we were behind them in line at checkout, and I think the boys were actually twins, or just very close in size. They had identical short-short haircuts and plaid button-down shirts.)

A pair of white people I absentmindedly thought were adults, a man and a woman, were standing next to a very full cart and behaving slightly strangely; I wasn’t paying attention but they were in the way of a thing I wanted to get to, so I noticed their presence and that they weren’t doing the expected thing. A middle-aged white lady strode up and snapped at them, “I need you to come pick out what you want for lunches!” and only then did I really look and notice that the girl was probably eleven or twelve and the boy a teenager, and that they’d been messing around and ignoring their surroundings, because they were kids. (In my defense he was like six feet tall.) Both children snapped to attention at their mother’s annoyance and hauled that cart out of there in a very snappy fashion.

A Black lady with a baby in one arm bent over a refrigerator case to pick something out. Next to her, a child, probably a boy, probably about four or five, jittered in place, trying to get her attention, flailing limbs and frantic tiny motion. A very tall Black man, clearly the child’s father, reached out and gently put his hand palm-down on the child’s head, lovingly and instantly stilling him. I was in motion and didn’t focus on them, but I could see the soft resigned smile on the man’s face, and it stuck with me as an image, his big hand so soft on the child’s little head, and all that frantic motion pausing. 

IDK sometimes I like being in crowds when they’re not too crowded. I like the way people look at each other sometimes, and being among all that life, and so on.
Awkward 6am selfie: got up to lie on couch and look at Internet, was instantly trapped by a needy Chita.

I don’t really care about the blaster, but I do care about Poe Dameron’s scar.
One of the things about my mother is that she doesn’t ever put notes in packages.

When I was in college, I can’t tell you how many times I got an unexpected package and opened it to retrieve some inexplicable item and then upended it to discover no explanation. The prizewinner was about sophomore year of college when I got an envelope containing a single pair of satin floral-print women’s panties in my size with the pricetag still partially attached, which I opened at the lunch table in front of a bunch of acquaintances, mostly young men. (I assume Mom saw a 4 for $x sale and bought a pair for each of her daughters, but that’s just me assuming because I know JCPenney was into that at the time, and she often took it as a sign.)

Now, my mother’s handwriting on the return address was normally enough that at least I didn’t assume I had a stalker or anything.

But in this day and age of Amazon wishlists… 

well, things keep turning up at my house, two weeks now after my birthday, and I’m just going to go ahead and assume they’re from my mother, because they’re things I had on my wishlist,  but I genuinely have no idea. Amazon lets you include a gift message for free!! These things are turning up with no receipt paperwork of any kind. A sewing machine carrying case was delivered in a box big enough that i could live in it. I just got some neon embroidery floss. I’m assuming my mother’s behind all of it, but how much stuff did she get me?? I put a lot of things on the wishlist so she’d have choices, not so she’d keep shopping! 

Well. I appreciate it, and I assume it’s all from her, but if not, well, whoever else is buying me stuff, thanks, I have no way of knowing… 



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