Michigan’s whack driver-education system does seem to have some good aspects. We’ve embarked on a six-month period called the “level 1 license,” which means Kate can only drive with one of us in the car with her. It’s going to take at least that long before I’m satisfied she’s ready. Although I had my first experience with her yesterday, and so far? So good. Clutches are difficult.
We started in a parking lot, then transitioned to some straight neighborhood streets in Detroit, followed Mack all the way to the Eastern Market, skated through downtown’s fringe, lapped Belle Isle and came home on Jefferson through a driving thunderstorm. Hit one curb, stalled about 50 times, but got through it intact. The next time will go better. Experience is all.
Now would be the time to trade for an automatic, but some part of me simply refuses. I’m a stick-shift girl, and I want my progeny to be, too. #pointlessvanities
Otherwise, it was a pleasant Father’s Day weekend. I bought a beautiful fish at the market, so pretty I thought it would speak to me from its bed of ice. Yellow-tail snapper, come to mama. It was more of a challenge than I would have liked — should have had the guy clean it all the way, rather than just de-gutting it — but it tasted nice, especially with a citrus beurre blanc and some rice and peas on the side. Must put more fish in the ol’ diet, and if they’re this good, it’ll be a pleasure.
And if my life is as boring as this, why am I bothering keeping this stupid blog?
Probably so we can all discuss the news of the day, like the First Lady’s links to a white family in the south, via the peculiar institution. Very interesting story, shedding light on the shared ancestors of two families of different races, in a way that suggests the real antebellum south, not the “Gone With the Wind” variety:
(The slave) Melvinia was a teenager, perhaps around 15, when she gave birth to her biracial son. Charles was about 20.
Such forbidden liaisons across the racial divide inevitably bring to mind the story of Thomas Jefferson and his slave Sally Hemings. Mrs. Obama’s ancestors, however, lived in a world far removed from the elegance of Jefferson’s Monticello, his 5,000-acre mountain estate with 200 slaves. They were much more typical of the ordinary people who became entangled in America’s entrenched system of servitude.
In Clayton County, Ga., where the Shields family lived, only about a third of the heads of household owned human property, and masters typically labored alongside their slaves. Charles was a man of modest means — he would ultimately become a teacher — whose parents were only a generation or so removed from illiteracy.
Melvinia was not a privileged house slave like Sally. She was illiterate and no stranger to laboring in the fields. She had more biracial children after the Civil War, giving some of the white Shieldses hope that her relationship with Charles was consensual.
What a crazy country.
Or we could talk about Obama’s immigration move last week, which I think was brilliant, but you may disagree.
Or we could talk about Rodney King, dead at 47, after what sounds like a not-very-happy life.
Or we could just acknowledge: With Monday, another week begins. Hope yours is great.