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something I should already know. “What do you always say when we’re not sure about somethin’?”
    I answered like a confident third grader about to win the spelling bee. “What would a free woman do?”
    She grinned her approval. “So did you ask yourself that question?”
    “Yes,” I said, proud I had remembered one of the lessons I’m always so busy teaching. “I did.”
    “That’s when you went off and walked out?”
    I nodded.
    “Well, then,” Tee said, like the matter was settled. “It’s all good!”
    I laughed out loud because she was absolutely right. I had asked the required question, given myself an honest answer, and acted on it with finality and just the right amount of Amazonian indignation. What happens next is just that: what happens next. But Tee was right, for now, it’s all good!
    “How did you get so smart?” I said, hugging her at the door as she headed for home before Mavis was too sleepy for another few pages of The Cat in the Hat.
    “I’ve been hanging around with you.” She laughed. “How ya think?”
    Which was, of course, the nicest thing anybody had said to me all day.

SEVEN
permanent shit list
    I TRY NOT TO spend too much time being mad when things don’t go according to plan. My personal experience is that things almost never go according to plan. Even a good plan. Accepting that as a fact of life instead of as evidence of the universe’s personal grudge against me for unknown crimes saves me from having to waste a lot of time being angry, time which can then be spent solving the problems at hand.
    Friday went by in a blur. I spent most of the day going over the books to see where I could cut corners instead of services and wondering how I could raise money for The Circus without pretending we are something we’re not. Even though it was going to be tight for a while, I hadn’t had any second thoughts about what happened at the committee. If you have any interest inmaintaining your self-respect, there sometimes comes a moment where you just have to say no . This was one of those moments and, to tell the truth, I was sort of exhilarated by it.
    Tee was busy calling everybody about the anti-Super Bowl party and it was clear this was an idea whose time had come. The response was overwhelming. I had never considered the use of football as an organizing tool for female empowerment, but maybe it was time to take a second look. Defiance is always one of the best emotions to tap into when you’re asking powerless people to stand up for themselves. Turning our backs on football seemed made to order. Next year we ought to consciously program Monday nights during the regular season.
    By six o’clock, we had confirmations from all of our regular members except Sheila Lattimore, whose mother had answered the phone when Tee called, said her daughter was busy on Sunday and hung up. I thought about stopping by there on my way to Sister’s for dinner, but what’s the point? Talking to Anita Lattimore is an exercise in futility. At forty, she’s the mother of six and the grandmother of at least seven, maybe more. Ten years ago, when he was fifteen, Junior, her oldest, ended her years of violent abuse at the hands of his father by shooting him to death. The murder occurred in full view of the other Lattimore kids, who ranged in age from thirteen to five.
    The court ruled it self-defense and allowed the family to stay together in the vain hope that, freed from the father’s reign of terror, it could repair and rebuild itself. Unfortunately, Anita wasn’t strong enough to do much besides get a job as a maid at the Motel 6 to keep a roof over their heads and minimal food on the table. She supplemented her income by turning tricks when the manager wasn’t looking and becoming a willing partnerin the many illegal get-rich-quick schemes that Junior dreamed up during his hours spent smoking dope, drinking beer and watching television on his mother’s tattered living-room sofa.
    Anita