We gave Nakisha a lift last night. We've done it before. People stare. An elderly Caucasian couple dropping a young Muslim girl off at her madrassa- that's not something you see every day.
I washed the kitchen window over the sink- inside and out- because it became opaque when the sun struck it at a certain angle. "When the sun struck it..." Yes, it's almost spring- and the sun is high enough to be clearing the tops of the buildings behind us and getting at a window that is shaded in winter. I mean to hang clothes on the line this morning. They won't dry but it's the gesture that counts. The air is still bitingly cold.