Dry sidewalks allow me to errand into previously ice-bound wastes, so I now have wine (for next door) and salt stain remover (for my boots, since it seems ammonia is no longer sold anywhere. What shall we do for smelling salts, I ask me?) Also is official: I walk into the shoe repair store (only place that sells salt remover) in my foofy rose pink hat and mauve-lavender-rose pink scarf, and am addressed as Sir by the middle-aged white Torontonian male owner. Rose pink is no longer a gender marker in this culture, which I suppose is good; coats *are* gender markers, which is enh; but coats that are not cloth (cloth is useless in winter) and tailored female (buttons, nipped waist, patch pockets if any) are read male by default. No wonder the unisex comfy middle-aged confuse so many people. How long ago the beginning of this month seems. Winter does stretch things.
Qiu Xiaolong, When Red is Black Barker, Tea from an Empty Cup Ford, The Final Reflection Pratchett, Raising Steam Tidhar, Camera Obscura Norton, Bonfires and Broomsticks (a skim, but a skim is all that's needed) Taniguchi & Sekikawa, The Times of Botchan Okorafor, The Shadow Speaker
Gave up: Light and Dark (it too long, me too busy) The Affinity Bridge Anne of Ingleside
Not sure how far I'm going to get with Who Fears Death. Rape scenes are not my thing.
