the ways in which I agree and disagree with Anne Shirley.

Oh Anne.  Who doesn’t love her?  I certainly do.  On some things I agree wholly with her, while on others, I tend to veer away.


Things I’m with Anne on:

Kindred Spirits.  I do believe there are kindred spirits and people of the race who know joseph.  I’ve met a few in my day.  I miss them too.  Anne had a knack for finding them.  Maybe it was her auburn hair.

Cats.  Anne valued cats.  She would not have that kitten drowned in a burlap bag, and I think I would have been on team kitten too.

Tchotches.  Remember Gog and Magog, those stately dogs that flanked the fireplace in college?

However, I do tend to disagree with Anne in some situations.

Anne, despite having an active imagination, took time languishing in grave yards.  Walking, thinking, journaling.  Anne, there could be zombies in there.  You just can’t be sure.  Maybe Canadians don’t fear the undead b/c everyone is so nice there.

And of course Gilbert.  I would have been ALL OVER Gilbert like white on rice. None of this hard to get nonsense.  No!  Gilbert would have winked at me and I would have been like “Oh, this fancy doctor who was also my childhood friend who is also super dreamy?”  Yeah.  Come on now Anne.  But clingy high school sweet hearts don’t thicken the plot enough I guess.

Also, Anne spent a lot of time pursuing extra curriculars.  Organizing a story writing club, quilting, improving the community.  I think her group of friends would have described me as a reclusive shut in with many barn cats.  You know, when they sit around talking smack while they quilt.  Scratch that, I think I would have made time to make it out for shade throwin’ quilt time.  Especially if Susan made one of her cakes.  “Oh my gosh Anne, this cake is delicious!  I can not believe the Hastings sat in our pew at church.  Just like a Methodist!”


2 thoughts on “the ways in which I agree and disagree with Anne Shirley.

  1. My favorite post of yours. We must talk Anne sometime. I have some stories, like the time my quiet husband made a neighbor spit out his dinner with the line, “plum crumpettes can’t minister to a soul diseased!”

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