Jim and I switching off with the children, each stealing time to write. We can see the danger of never seeing each other and have a sitter coming so we can maybe at least go and sit at a cafe table together with our computers! Writing about my grandmother, her death, while also reading Kate Walbert's book about women of her generation. We never talked about women's rights, but she must have been so glad to see me go to university, to choose my career.
Went to a colleague's exhibition of Victorian women's lives in America - "Beyond Domesticity:" amazing fire in the voices of women like Gilman and Alcott. The frustration they felt, and the action they took -- what I have felt, except we have learned to make compromises to live with men, perhaps too many? Am I a little jealous, I wonder, that I wasn't part of the rebellion, the Romantic disruption of a whole paradigm?
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