Author Archives: lydias

Via Head Like an Orange.

Here is this week’s list of blog posts, poems, and other tidbits from my favourite corners of the web.

Meet the New Anti-Adoption Movement, the Surprising Next Frontier in Reproductive Justice. A really interesting article about people fighting back against coercion and corruption in the private adoption industry that my husband shared with me recently. What it boils down to is that the social safety net for poor and marginalized people is in tatters in the U.S.

Dude, I Don’t Talk Religion or Politics. I’m really curious to hear how (or when, or if) my readers broach these topics with their friends and family members. As I said in my comment to this blogger, I’m cautious about discussing this stuff until I get to know people well. Debating isn’t fun to me, so I try to figure folks out long before controversial topics. It’s fine if we disagree, I just hate being cornered by argumentative people. Frankly that kind of social interaction stresses me out and gives me a bad impression of people who get that excited about “winning.” I’d much rather focus on why we think the way we do than on trying to change anyone’s mind.

Romancifying Vincent via SufiJohn. A humorous break from all of the serious links this week. It takes a lot of talent to write a limerick that balances good storytelling with the silliness inherent in this style of poetry.

Hiding in N. Virginia, A Daughter of Auschwitz via OpaRide. The woman profiled in this piece has hidden her true identity for decades for fear that she will be punished for crimes her father committed. What amazes me the most is that some people actually blame her for atrocities that happened when she was a preschooler.

Stay As Sweet As You Are – Sugar Seduction. This blog post claims that in the 1950s corn syrup and dextrose were considered healthy. I find that hard to believe, but the post is so well written I’m sharing it with my readers anyways. The entire site is full of fascinating historical information. Some I’ve heard before and believe to be true, other stories I’m not so sure about. Maybe one of you will know!

From Oh…September via @ConfusedPoet00:

Oh… September.
Not on the mend at all
Are you?

From The Enemy is Religion:

So no, religion is not the common enemy of atheists. I’m an atheist (in the sense that I withhold belief on the God claim, a category which some people prefer to call agnostic) and religion is not my enemy. I object to religions only to an extent that they harm people or promote cruelty to others. And the last few weeks in the atheist movement has really shown me that theists don’t have a corner on that market.

How would you react if you found a strange, mute child sleeping on your porch? The Boy on the Porch starts off sounding like a traditionally sentimental story about a small town, a lonely childless couple, and an abandoned boy who desperately needs a safe place to stay for a while. I actually almost stopped reading a few chapters into the plot because I was sure I knew how it would end.

I was wrong.

Longterm readers know that I’d never recommend something cloying or mushy to you. There’s nothing wrong with liking sentimental fiction, of course, it’s just not a genre that appeals to me. I can’t divulge any more of the plot without spoiling it for you, but trust me when I say it’s well worth a try.

This is not your typical orphan story by any stretch of the imagination. Modern day fables are few and far between, but I suspect this book will become an instant classic.

What have you been reading? What modern fables do you love? Have you ever judged a book by it’s beginning and been completely wrong about it?

Just tuning in? Start here.

Then

One of the first things Carl did once his granddaughter settled into her new home was enrol her in school. The Mingus Valley Primary School had finally been assigned another teacher after several years of sitting empty. Finding someone to teach the local children basic arithmetic and how to read and write was Carl’s biggest accomplishment as Head Ombudsmen so far.

The last 15 years had brought such unpredictable weather patterns that the population had fallen sharply and most of the surviving families were more concerned with their next meal than teaching their children to read, write, add, and subtract. With several years of good crops and a new alliance with Peoria Carl knew his community was headed for prosperity. If enough lambs survived the summer  he might even be able to bring home a kitten or puppy for Daphne the next time he went to market to barter for everything their little farm couldn’t produce.

She was such a quiet, timid little thing. It had been years since Carl had been so intimately involved with raising a child, but he didn’t remember Jose being this withdrawn when he was her age. Of course, her father had grown up with  half a dozen noisy siblings, a barn cat who produced kittens at an alarming rate, a rotating assortment of hunting dogs, and a mother who lived.

The house was so still now that  it only sheltered a tired old man and his youngest surviving grandchild. Carl had such high hopes when he sent Daphne off to school. In the few short weeks since she had come to live with him he had occasionally seen flashes of what her life must have been like before her mother died.

She knew how to light a fire, knead bread, and cook a simple stew. Once when she thought he had gone out to the shed to collect more fire wood he heard her sing softly as she chopped the vegetables.

Down in the valley, the valley so low

Hang your head over, hear the wind blow

Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow;

Hang your head over, hear the wind blow.

In thirty seconds he’d heard her say more than he did in the previous week, and as Carl listened stood in the entryway and listened to her sing even the verses no one understood and few bothered to memorize he wondered how she would react to learning something new. Most folks wouldn’t have bothered memorizing obscure stanzas about creatures few believed in and even fewer had heard of these days.

Which was why he was so surprised when her introduction to school was a disaster. Daphne lasted two hours the first morning before sneaking away on a bathroom break and running all the way back to her grandfather’s cottage. She liked running her fingers over the musty pages in the books the community had accumulated over the years but hated being separated from her grandfather all day almost as much as she did standing in front of a room full of strangers and answering questions about her lessons. The thought of being surrounded by that many people staring at her made Daphne’s teeth hurt. Their stares weren’t unfriendly so much as they were intrusive. Daphne felt like she walking down the road in bare feet in the middle of winter every time her teacher asked her to speak louder and enunciate her answers.

He walked her back to the school, of course, but when she proceeded to run away again every other day that week he relented. Carl had never enjoyed the prospect of being the centre of attention himself, and he thought that it was more important for the girl to learn than it was for her to conquer her fear of being noticed at such a young age. Under her grandfather’s quiet tutelage Daphne absorbed everything he could think to teach her except for geography.

She never did quite understand the importance of learning how all of the territories fit together now that people were remembering again, but eventually she learned everything he could remember from his own school days. For a few months a teenage Daphne even worked as a substitute teacher at the little school after her predecessor died and before it was shut down for another generation.

Now

Esther Penn

District 3

Arizona Terrority

1 August 2113

Highway Letter

District 6

Henderson, Nevada

Dear Esther:

Enclosed you will find a new batch of trackers for District 3. This version has been modified to require longer intervals between adjustments and the first round of testing has shown far fewer adverse outcomes than the first prototype.

Please submit your log at soon as each tray has been installed so that we can activate them ASAP.  I know your access to the cloud is spotty in such a remote location, but the success of this experiment relies on meticulous attention to detail before we begin stage 3. We must ensure it is safe before the legislature will officially approve human testing.

Yours, etc.,

Highway.

“So as you can see it’s very important that you agree to listen to the judge,” the woman said with a relaxed smile.

Daphne hadn’t recognized all of the words she’d read – spelling and vocabulary had always been more difficult to master than most other subjects for her-  but she understood enough to realize it was something other than a direct order.

“I ought to bring this up with the council first,” Daphne said as she slid the wrinkled, olive paper off of the table. Esther’s smile tightened as she slid the paper back over to her side of the table and tucked it into her pocket.

“That’s not necessary, our judge has jurisdiction over your affairs. It’s all here in the paperwork. ”

“I think the other Ombudsmen can help me figure out if that’s true.” Whatever a judge was or wherever jurisdiction might be found,  Daphne assumed they were something similar to the volunteers who metered out justice in her own community. And in Mingus Valley justice was decided by majority vote in a small group. It was nearly unthinkable for one single person to accumulate that much power over his or her neighbours.

Photo by Wiggy.

Longterm readers know I’m not a very romantic person, so it may come as a shock to you to hear that I’ve started reading romance novels.

My role models growing up had warm, healthy relationships, but my parents were far more likely to walk around the neighbourhood picking up trash as a “date” than they were  to do traditionally romantic things. The only time I ever know of my dad buying flowers for my mom is when she found out she was pregnant. Somewhere there is a picture of her beaming as she holds them.

They loved one another very much, but they rarely if ever expressed it the way people in romantic books or movies did. Love in my family was shown in practical, thrifty ways: fixing cars, unclogging sinks, defrosting our vintage refrigerator, cutting out holes in the walls of dark rooms in order to install a window, hiding money behind picture frames for a rainy day, stocking up on a favourite food when it went on sale if there was extra money in the grocery budget, telling your spouse (and kids) how much you cared about them.

So when I became old enough to develop crushes I was mystified by the behaviour in the romance novels my friends read. None of the adults in my life acted anything like the men and women in those books. The idea of my father sweeping mom off her feet after she came home from a long, hard day taking care of patients was, well, kind of silly. What she really needed was a peaceful house, a hot dinner, and as little sweeping as possible. She had to go into work the next day after all.

My personality also played a role in it. I value simplicity and quality time and think what you do is way more important than what you say. There’s nothing wrong with other people enjoying flowers, chocolates, and jewelry, but those aren’t the things I look for when I want to know how my spouse feels about me. Our idea of a fun date is pretty non-traditional. Like my parents we do a lot of walking and talking.

Earlier this summer a story came into the queue at the book review site I write for that immediately piqued my interest. The only problem was that it included a romantic element.  All of the other subplots touched on issues that I normally love mulling over. I wondered how I’d react to a mixed-genre story and decided to give it a try. In a worst case scenario I’d hate it and ask for another reviewer to be assigned to it.

I’ll admit it: I changed my mind. If there are other genres swirling around the subplots I don’t mind a little romance in the books I read. In the future I suspect I’ll remain picky about the types of romances I request, but I’m also picky about other genres. There are certain themes I’ve never learned to enjoy…and that’s ok.

But I’ll still keep an open mind about it. 😉

What have you changed your opinion about lately?

Here is this week’s list of blog posts and other tidbits from my favourite corners of the web.

From Life and Death in Assisted Living:

During a tour, a salesperson gave Myron and his two sons, Eric and Mark, a brochure. “Just because she’s confused at times,” the brochure reassured them, “doesn’t mean she has to lose her independence.”

Here are a few things the brochure didn’t mention:

Just months earlier, Emeritus supervisors had audited the facility’s process for handling medications. It had been found wanting in almost every important regard. And, in truth, those “specially trained” staffers hadn’t actually been trained to care for people with Alzheimer’s and other forms of dementia, a violation of California law.

Steampunk – Hybridity and Fantasy. I’ve never quite figured out why the Steampunk subculture annoys me so much, but this article gives a good explanation of why it bothers other people.

How to Disagree. I couldn’t agree with this more. A lot can be learned about someone’s character by observing how they handle disagreements. We all have bad days and sensitive topics, though, so I look for behaviour patterns over months or years if it is at all possible.

The Kindness of Beasts. These kinds of stories make me wish animals could talk. I’d love to know what’s going through their minds when they risk their own safety to help others.

The World Religions Tree. A map of every religion known on earth that shows how how they are all connected to one another. I could spend all morning zooming in and out again to discover new similarities between denominations and religions that I never would have imagined. And just think – had any of us been born at a different time or place  we very likely would have ended up believing in an entirely different religion!

Letter to a Drive-By Antisemite via AutistLiam. What a humorous reaction to what must have been an incredibly frustrating interaction! I’ll admit to feeling quite curious about the outfits some people wear for (what I assume are) religious reasons, but I’ve never had the urge to ask such personal questions. It makes me wonder about how the antagonist in this blog post grew up. Was he bullied about things beyond his control? Did his grandmother/teacher/neighbour ask him incredibly inappropriate things? Did he grow up in a family that ridiculed empathy? I believe people are born good. Emotional callousness is something that develops later on for some folks.

The Trouble with the Poor. If the first sentence of this post doesn’t make you want to read it, nothing will:

The trouble with the poor is that they are messy.

Pets are weird. My Dog the Paradox explores all of the reasons why this is so.

What is even odder is how attached humans get to the cats, dogs, rabbits, reptiles, rodents, birds, and other creatures that burrow into our hearts. Our ancestors originally domesticated them for practical reasons in many cases, but we live with them because we love them.

For several years during our childhood my oldest brother, Jesse, had a constant companion named Cubby. Cubby was a small, mixed breed dog who wasn’t the sharpest crayon in the box.  He believed that bubbles were the biggest threat to our family and attacked every one that magically appeared in the house to keep us safe. You don’t have to be intelligent to love and protect your humans.

If you gave him a carrot he’d gnaw it all the way to the stub, find a quiet corner of the house and then vomit up everything he had eaten. In the summer he’d lick one side of a popsicle while my brother licked the other. He had the most terrible gas ever known to mankind (possibly because he lived with a houseful of children who fed him strange things because they didn’t know any better).

What have you been reading? What is the weirdest thing one of your pets has ever done?

Photo by The Mighty Tim Inconnu.

Just tuning in? Start here.

“Shhh!”

Isaac quietly latched the front door as Ephraim winced his way to the kitchen table. Lemon was the only member of the household awakened by their late entrance. So far. He whined and limply wagged his tail as his humans gathered up medical supplies and began cleaning their wounds.

“Are you sure we lost them?” Ephraim whispered. The jagged cut on his thigh was beginning to congeal, but he knew it would heal faster if he cleaned the dirt out and washed it with something alcoholic.

“No, it was too dark to tell. And Aunt Rachel told me we’d be safer here than anywhere else.” Isaac gingerly dabbed his forehead. There would be a nasty bruise to explain away tomorrow morning, but at least the skin wasn’t broken. The limited medical training he’d absorbed from his brother’s studies was beginning to kick in. He wasn’t dizzy or nauseous and so far his sight seemed normal. Isaac knew these were good signs after a head injury.

“Caca.”

“They don’t know this valley the way we do. I’m sure we lost them.”

Ephraim frowned at his brother as he finished wrapping his thigh in a clean bandage.

“Did you see where the kids ran?”

“No, we’ll have to search for them again tomorrow. Aunt Rachel can’t possibly take care of them herself in her condition, and you know how useless Bernard is in a crisis.” The husband of Rachel’s and MacArthur’s second daughter had bolted as soon as the soldiers attacked, leaving the remaining members of the family to gather up the children and make a dash for it. What had been truly bizarre, though, was how easily the soldiers were able to track him down. Bernard was an expert hunter and sheepherder, and he knew of small, hidden caverns in this valley that were a mystery to even to his most adventurous neighbours.

In the middle of the night he should have easily been able to slip through the fingers of men and women who had virtually no knowledge of the terrain. Long after Ephraim and Lemon fell asleep Isaac lay quietly next to them wondering what exactly had happened a few hours earlier.

The house was dull the next morning. Daphne struggled to extract even the most cursory information from her sons over breakfast once she’d noticed the wound on Isaac’s head.

Isaac had been secretly sharing food and water with the Eversons. When his brother found out what was happening Isaac had bribed Ephraim into keeping his secret.

The Eversons had abruptly moved camp since Isaac’s last visit, though, and it had taken longer than they expected to find them yesterday. Their near-relatives had recently been visited by the public health nurse, and Bernard’s suspicion of the humourless soldiers who accompanied her lead him to seeking out a new place to sleep as they slowly rebuilt a new home for the family.

No one had expected the soldiers to find their new camp so quickly or for what was supposed to be a simple debriefing to turn ugly. Bernard was charged with moving without a license, and when he gave a snarky reply to the officer who fined him all hell broke loose. Isaac didn’t mention how easily she found Bernard once he ran away or how close her soldiers came to following Isaac and Ephraim home. None of it made sense to him and he didn’t want his mother to worry.

“Moving to a new home or helping somebody else move is a crime now,” Ephraim said. “We’re supposed to stay put until the census is finished and everyone has been vaccinated.”

Daphne’s arm still twinged now and again, and she reflexively rubbed the spot where she had received her vaccination.

“Speaking of which, you two need your vaccinations. The public health nurse said she’d come by again to see you when she had time in her schedule.”

“We can’t, we have plans today.”

“It really is important, boys. Their medicine is so strong it can cure you before you’re sick.” Daphne still found it hard to believe, but she was grateful for any help the strangers could offer. Her grandfather was the community’s doctor until shortly before his death. She’d seen too many young, healthy people struck down in the prime of life even when Mingus Valley had a doctor. The death rate rose sharply each time the previous doctor died or moved away.

“And my ions have never felt better!” Paige said as she hobbled into the kitchen. True, her knees and hips were as stiff and painful as ever, but she could still feel the warmth of the vaccine coursing through her veins. It was only a matter of time before she regained the strength and agility she had been known for years ago. Maybe she’d even wake up with the thick, brown hair she had been so well known for as a young woman!

“We have to let the other elders know what happened at any rate,” Ephraim said. He normally found his brother’s stubborn streak annoying, but he didn’t want anyone else to get hurt and didn’t trust the soldiers to spread the word effectively. Neither he nor Isaac had known about the new rule after all! Their luckily minor injuries were proof that the soldiers weren’t going to be patient in the future.

“And the council should meet to discuss their own punishments for people who break it,” Isaac said. “Folks will listen to you faster than to strangers.”

Daphne wasn’t sure about that. Her short time as an ombudsman had been one of her most frustrating experiences in recent memory. It was difficult enough to get your children to listen to you, never mind other adults who were always looking out for their own best interests.

“I think they should do it,” Paige said. “We can mind the farm while they’re gone.” There was very little to do during this time of year anyways. A few tools needed to be sharpened or repaired and the tool shed had a leaky roof that should be fixed before winter, but most of their days would be spent watching the children and resting after a long, difficult spring.

This was how Ephraim and Isaac managed to yet once again to avoid the exasperated public health nurse when she showed up again that afternoon, this time with soldiers in tow.

“Look, I have a court order,” Esther said as she waved a faded piece of paper around.

Daphne stared at her with a blank expression.

“A judge decided that everyone in this valley must be vaccinated,” Esther explained as she set the paper down in front of Daphne. Did these people know nothing about how the legal system worked? Esther knew they were isolated down here, but her preparation for this assignment indicated that they at least had a rudimentary justice system. “You’ll go to jail if you don’t.” Daphne frowned. She’d never heard of a city by that name before. It must be far away.

What Esther’s research hadn’t indicated, though, was that Daphne was literate. And the paper in front of her said nothing about vaccinations, court orders, or jail.

The next instalment of After the Storm will be published tomorrow due to illness.

My apologies for the delay.

Here is this week’s list of blog posts, poems, and other tidbits from my favourite corners of the web.

What to Say Instead of “One Day, This Will All Make Sense to You.”  The only thing I would add to this post is the phrase “I’m sorry.”

With Friends Like These via Lesism. Would you be friends with yourself? An important reminder about what we say about ourselves…to ourselves.

What Do You Call Your Moms?  An essay written by a young woman who sometimes struggles to figure out what to call her moms. This is not at all the same thing, but it made me think of my relationship with my youngest aunt. We spent so much time together when I was young that she feels more like a sibling who grew up in another household than an aunt, and she’s actually the only one of my parents’ siblings that I think of on a first name basis (as opposed to being Aunt or Uncle so-and-so). Titles aren’t as important as the emotional bond two people share, whatever sort of bond that may be.

Wednesday’s Move via carolynlawrence. One of the most visceral descriptions of a break up I’ve ever read.

Grief Magic. A few months ago I recommend this author’s book about parenting a child with a terminal illness to my readers. Her son died at around the same time the book was published, and this essay is about how she has been coping over the past 5 months.

From How to Do What You Love via Silveragerus:

What you should not do, I think, is worry about the opinion of anyone beyond your friends. You shouldn’t worry about prestige. Prestige is the opinion of the rest of the world. When you can ask the opinions of people whose judgement you respect, what does it add to consider the opinions of people you don’t even know?

From She Has Glasses:

“She has glasses,” you’d have to say describing me to your friend so he could spot me in a crowd. “She’s short with glasses and dark hair…yep, that’s her.” You’d just have to mention the glasses first as they became unusual, identifyingly characteristic. That was the thing that set me apart from my other friends, not being the least-thin, not being Cute, which would soon grow to make me feel too young, too. But glasses? Glasses I could deal with. Glasses were my choice.

The Rapture of Canaan is the fictional story of a young girl, Ninah, growing up in a cult who believes she has been given a miraculous virgin pregnancy.

Belief is a powerful thing. It can be used to knit a community together or rip it to shreds. While I found it really hard to believe that supposedly intelligent adults would accept the idea of a 12 year old girl living in modern times becoming pregnant without having sex, I loved the lyrical descriptions of Ninah’s thoughts and surroundings.

I first read this when I was about the same age as Ninah while browsing through my youngest aunt’s home library one day. As an adult I doubt any cult would actually allow its teenage members to do the things that Ninah does, but this book does show a very realistic portrayal of the stage in life in which everyone must decide if they agree with their parents’ religious beliefs or have come to a different conclusion about who or what might be out there.

What have you been reading?

Just tuning in? Start here. 

Daphne should have know it was going to be a grey day. She woke up with a bone-crunching headache that radiated down her spine and into her shoulders. It was a blisteringly hot morning.  The sun oozed slowly over the yard, and by the time Daphne woke up every puff of air felt like it was on fire.

“No, it’s mine!” Wilhelmina said as she snatched the little wooden horse away from her brother. They’d been squabbling since dawn when Paige retreated to the corner of the house to silently work on her knitting. Daphne’s early morning dreams were punctuated by angry squeals and Lemon’s agitated barks.

She groaned as she dragged herself out of bed. Hadn’t the agreement been that she’d provide food and shelter for their neighbours and Paige was responsible for childcare and discipline?

When Felix accidentally tipped his breakfast onto the floor after his sister playfully tried to snatch it away from him Daphne felt something small and brittle in her diaphragm snap. Lemon slurped up the now dusty food as the girl giggled and threw a handful of her own meal onto the floor. In that moment a jagged fleck of the anger and fear Daphne had buried deep inside herself bubbled up her esophagus and rolled over her tongue before she knew what was happening.

“Both of you stop it!” The children froze. Paige grumbled at them without following through on her threats so often that they’d long since learned to ignore her warnings. They’d never seen their quiet, patient, timid neighbour raise her voice before, though.

“Sit down and be quiet,” she said as she begrudgingly scooped another serving of gruel onto the boy’s plate. “You will never waste food or feed the dog table scraps again. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Wilma stared at the table and took a small, halfhearted bite of food while her brother attempted to eat his meal as quickly as possible. He knew Esther was coming back today to give them all special medicine. Maybe that was why Miss Daphne was so uncharacteristically authoritarian?

After breakfast Felix, Wilma, and Lemon  were swooshed out of the house while everything was tidied up. Ephraim and Isaac were busy repairing tools in the shed and the children had been given strict instructions not to bother them. Instead Felix challenged his sister to a game of tag until they were both too warm to continue. While they cooled down in the shade Wilma began rubbing dust into Lemon’s fur. Every time he shook it off she giggled and gathered up another handful of it to sprinkle on his head.

Lunch was a quiet affair. Daphne had been expecting her visitor to show up before they ate, and it was unnerving to know a virtual stranger might be entering her house while she was busy taking the bread out of the oven and making a simple stew. The afternoon scraped over her last nerves as the sun began its descent. Esther really should have arrived by now.

“Well, we should get some more water,” Isaac said a few hours after lunch. Normally he and his brother performed this chore first thing in the morning or right before sunset.

“It’s too hot outside for that long walk,” Daphne said as a flicker of irritation tickled her lungs. She wasn’t happy about being crammed into a hot, tense, too-small house with 5 other people all afternoon either, but Esther had reiterated over and over again how important it was for everyone to be scanned and vaccinated.

“Ill be back soon,” Isaac said. His mother’s sharp tones were rubbing him raw today. What he needed even more than a fresh glass of water was an hour of peace and quiet during his slow walk to a bigger stream. Sparrow Creek didn’t dry up every year, but the weather last winter had been particularly dry. They were now in the middle of an unusually hot summer.

“I should help you,” Ephraim said suddenly. It was true that Isaac couldn’t carry all of the empty water jugs by himself, but it wasn’t strictly necessary for all of them to be filled. He just preferred not to be left alone with the bickering children and the tension in Daphne’s voice as she fumbled through her herbs for a mild painkiller.

Ten minutes after they left Esther arrived at the homestead breathless and covered in perspiration, and so it was that she once again missed out on meeting MacArthur’s sons. Daphne accepted the scans and vaccination warily. It was doubtful they would work, but she’d seen much more painful cures being touted in previous epidemics.

If nothing else it gave her the opportunity to observe the stranger’s medical care up close. Swallowing bitter tea or rubbing pungent salve on a sore muscle made sense, but Daphne couldn’t imagine how the tiny pieces of metal the stranger injected into everyone’s arms were supposed to prevent or cure anything.

“It realigns your ions,” Esther said when Paige pressed for more information. Daphne was too embarrassed to ask what an ion was or how hers had become so unstable, but she hoped it would bring more mobility to her sore knee. Esther’s scanner had picked up on the injury, but when Daphne asked if there was anything they could do to fix it the woman was eerily quiet. Maybe even the capital didn’t know how to fix old injuries?

“Well, I could have told you mine were defective!” Paige said as she rubbed her sore forearm. “They’ve been hurting for years.”

“What time will your sons be back?” Esther asked as she carefully wiped down her equipment. Ordinarily she might have written off the teenagers as noncompliant, but her supervisors had insisted that everyone in this family participate in the program.

“Soon,” Daphne said. Only fools would take a long walk on such a hot day. When suppertime rolled around with still no sign of her sons, though, Esther was forced to move onto the next house with the promise that she’d come back again soon to ensure Isaac and Ephraim were healthy and vaccinated. Daphne felt the ball of fear in her diaphragm pulse as it grew a few inches bigger.

Supper was a quiet affair. The children were groggy from a long day of waiting, and Daphne felt a twinge of pain in her arm every time she moved it while slicing the bread and rehydrating some vegetables. She couldn’t say the rest of her felt any better or worse and wondered how long it would take for the vaccination to work. There were no stories tonight, just gentle hugs and an early bedtime.

It was nearly midnight before her sons arrived back home. Lemon was the only one still awake to greet the bleeding boys who limped into quiet little house.

Here is this week’s list of blog posts, quotes, and other tidbits from my favourite corners of the web.

Confronting our feelings and giving them appropriate expression always takes strength, not weakness. It takes strength to acknowledge our anger, and sometimes more strength yet to curb the aggressive urges anger may bring and to channel them into nonviolent outlets. It takes strength to face our sadness and to grieve and to let our grief and our anger flow in tears when they need to. It takes strength to talk about our feelings and to reach out for help and comfort when we need it. – Fred Rogers

On the Significance of Digitally Documenting Zoo Visits. What children really learn when they visit the zoo. This is the kind of stuff I love doing with my nephew and his parents when we’re in the same city. Kids see things with fresh eyes that adults have long since learned to explain away.

Does This Path Have Heart? This is my life philosophy as well.

To the Guys Who Threw Eggs at Me Tonight via Scalzi. I love this blogger’s sense of humour and no-nonsense approach to people who think they can bully her about her weight.

Wrench. An exquisitely detailed article about what it’s like to work in a bike shop.

Flip The News – NSFW Survey Results. A few weeks ago I retweeted a link to a sex survey the owners of this blog had compiled. The results, while not at all scientific, are fascinating. What modern society says about the sex drives and preferences of men and women, straight and LGBT, young and old is often the exact opposite of what these groups self-report.

(Untitled). When I look at this painting I see a darker, grown up version of The Wizard of Oz. Dorothy is seeking the wizard not to find her way home but to piece her life together again…starting with her own body. (No, this isn’t a gory piece). What do you see?

Safe Sex: Choose Your Own Adventure Style! Now this is a creative approach to safer sex. Our parents (probably) don’t know this, but I may or may not have given one of my siblings condoms when he was in high school. I was quite irritated with fear-mongering, abstinence-only sex ed in our community and wanted him to be safe when he decided to become sexually active.

Just Another Monday – Almost via Brudberg. How would you react if you found graffiti on your property?

I first read Do Androids Dreams of Electric Sheep? in high school. Every few years I return to it and am amazed by something new in it.

Rick Deckard is a bounty hunter who slowly begins to question the morality of destroying the androids he is being paid to hunt down. This book is set in 2021, a time in which humanity has caused the extinction of a huge percentage of the animals that used to live beside us. There are android-ish versions of many of the creatures that used to really exist as well.

What I loved and love the most about this book is how blurry the lines become between “real” and “artificial” people. It would be difficult to name the philosophical questions this plot twist brings up without giving you spoilers, but sufficed to say this is one of those books that asks hard questions and doesn’t accept wishy-washy answers.

What have you been reading?