During women’s studies courses in 1980’s I delved into these authors and what a pleasure. This article reminds me to pick up some of these books again.
I still remember the first time I read Mary Daly’s Gyn/Ecology. It awoke something within me. Her use of language, the power of her writing and the ease with which she created new words taught me so much about the world around me and about the way the language, and subsequently its use in writing, shapes lives, choices, abilities and destinies. She also taught me about myself.
I was hooked, but not just on Mary Daly. Shortly after I finished her book, I moved onto other feminists writing about religion like Katie Cannon, Judith Plaskow, Alice Walker, Carol Christ, Rita Gross, Gloria Anzaldua, Audre Lorde, Adrienne Rich, Margaret Farley and Starhawk to name just a few. All of them, in fact every feminist I’ve ever read, has shown me the way in which words have power and how words speak truth to power. Ever since, I’ve wanted to…
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I just axed my first sentence as Tips suggested. Now this is my second sentence. Should I now axe the sentence saying “I just axed my first sentence etc.” Then it would start with Now this is my second etc. and so forth. This is my first post so I’ll skip all that.
Anyway, after I wrote a churlish letter of frustration about condo developers in my hood, which I intended to send to the newspaper, I instead threw a curse at the gatekeeper gods of all the blasted digital worlds. They are Newspaper Password deities and their ugly kin who are rotten little trolls. Harsh, but true.
Here is what happened: passwords are hard to recall so I finally hid them everywhere around me. Some of my hiding places include an index box kept under the bedskirt and another index box labelled Aunt Milly’s Recipes, along with some recipes for good measure. Milly is actually my mother’s name, since I hope to further confuse pryers.
So it is like being nine years old again, hiding notes and diaries from my sisters. A favourite hiding method we used to do for fun, was writing in lemon juice which showed up as a miraculous, invisible message until it was held over a flame. We’d hide the note in an obviously tempting location with words like: Private! Printed in red crayon on the page, so we were sort of luring people I guess.
So fast forward sixty years and I could write passwords in lemon juice and I could leave them out anywhere easy for me to grab and in plain sight. I’d have to keep matches on my person.
Then I’ll name the password book with a black marker, “Grocery List” but it would appear blank. Right.