Things I noticed today while looking around me: there are many types of matzo that I'll have to choose between when making an upcoming treat; two baby bunnies bounding out of a bush toward me while I walked to the parking garage after class; the mysterious group of neutral-colored cars parked in front of one particular apartment building in my neighborhood.
Something I thought about in general: I wish someone had had me read Jane Austen--I mean really read it, and think about it--before my senior year in high school. I'd like to think things would have gone different if I'd had the little morality maxim "what would Jane do?" in the back of my head. [I certainly wouldn't be having the same conversations now that I was then, I can pretty much tell you that.]
What is it about youth that makes the Wickhams and Willoughbys so desirable? So seemingly exciting? I think it might be because, as a teenaged young person, you already assume you're grown up, and thus your sensibilities won't be changing anymore. Boy oh boy is that wrong. The Wickhams and Willoughbys (and Crawfords, and Thorpes) may stay emotionally stagnant. But I, myself, am glad I am no longer a Lydia or a Marianne. Now if only some others would acknowledge it as well.
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