Mid-March Madness

One of those days where things seem wonderful one moment: electric class discussions; a chance encounter with a colleague where you both come up with so many new ideas; a guest lecture that is both enlightening and offers students self-care; a lovely thank-you note... And then in the next moment things are so awful and shaky that you can be driving up 127N, see the usual signs on Bigotry Farm, and instead of making you chuckle ruefully, it makes you start crying; or you're discussing Junot Diaz and choke up from thinking about all the 'allies' who are also oppressors.

I know the pandemic still has us in thrall, but having to deal with all the things that were right and wrong in the world on top of it seems a bit much.

Had to block off a two-hour slot tomorrow to draft a statement about the Atlanta shootings with the usual crew since no one else here has said or done anything... thus far.

Evening

I relive volumes about preserving all these hours
as though a summer's worth of sweetness swims

under the surface in the hopeful brine of memory. 

What if there are instructions to make the moment?

What if I practiced each moment before it came--

in the long, lonely present, folding in love, alone...

Open to my destiny as a nomad in this desired body,
understanding? O, I would say in wonder and dismay, 

returning over and over again like a peal of laughter.

Staying alive

At had kind of not been ok, and I thought a green comrade in his dorm space might be nice for him, so I gave him a potted dracena on his 'Boss Day.' At the last moment, I stuck a fake succulent stem in there too. 

Yesterday, he texted to ask about its watering schedule--and while he was watering it...

At: This succulent is fake. lol

Me: I promised you you could keep all this alive. I wanted you to feel good about yourself!

At: Love you lol

Me: Love you <3

At: How often should I water the real plants?

(The picture is a real succulent L gave me last year... I'm bad with succulents, actually--I overwater, and they have no restraint and drink everything and then individual leaves get too heavy and plop off...)

Days are Short

 I've been balancing my days using color codes for work (blue), family (green), home (orange), and personal notes (pink) for maybe over 10-12 years now? It's helped me focus on balance in specific areas when necessary while giving me a sense of accomplishment for things I manage to do. At a glance, as they say.

The last couple of weeks have looked 'off' calendar-wise--two weeks ago was birthday week, when I wasn't allowed to do anything and last week was the one where I basically developed a 48-hour episode of amnesia after the second Covid shot. I'm looking forward to a string of nondescript and colorfully ordinary weeks from here on out. 

DST Sunday

Time feels so strange anyway right now, that an hour's early start... on a Sunday... should make no difference, but even in the pandemic, DST still makes things disruptive. 

Being told why DST happens had some odd drama to it as a new immigrant: the implicit trust that this new world ritual had some higher-order rationale that I would eventually appreciate, but in the meantime--here's this "Fall back-Spring forward" mnemonic to keep track. Remembering Chelli's friend MH waiting up precisely for 2 am to turn the clocks still makes me smile, and we just talked about MH this weekend, and they're still best friends. 

But what a lovely sun-kissed weekend, nevertheless. No coats, so much outside play, the melt revealing the abrupt way things had suddenly ended with the one big snow. Family sushi, Puppy playdates (BS and JL), a sleepover with Nu, a movie via Zoom with EM (Bombay Rose, HIGHLY recommended!), a marathon phone call home, and now a ton of work waiting for me. (I feel 100% recovered from the second shot, BTW.)

Three Little Puppies (2)

HD, Scout, Huck (L to R)

 

Scout, CS, Huck (L to R)

Puppy playdates are the fun pandemic-approved hangout time I need.

Arrangement

I am buttoned tight inside a world

made mostly of sounds and words

for my name will soon get forgotten

you may add small tears to the sea,
to the wind, all the liminal seasons
don't wear out my name with wails

I started my own tribe of wanderers 
who'll need my name for new ways,

promises, festivals, and kindnesses

I'm Coming Up

Woke up not at 100%, but knowing I just couldn't take any more time off. My email box was terrifying, and it took hours and hours to take care of things that had piled up in 48 hours away and get back to a zero inbox. Did I use my "BinBox"™liberally? You bet I did.

Getting things done helped me keep my energy levels up and I'm glad I work with caring/forgiving colleagues. Tons of advising, opining, advocating, celebrating, and mediating on the student front. 

An invitation-only workshop that was postponed last July has been rescheduled for this July, and despite being vaccinated, I just didn't feel ready to commit. My response surprised me, because I thought I'd be excited about travel... I'm a mystery to myself.

Oh. And I made sure to enjoy the surprise hyacinths popping up all over the house from the bulbs I pressed into assorted planters at the beginning of winter. 

Wiped Out

Totally missed my 8 am meeting because I slept through it.

Did not expect to be wiped out for so long--I planned for Tuesday's set of classes, but what about Thursdayyyyyyy???

Rallied for bestie KB's talk, then back to bedddddddddd... (Full disclosure attended from bed.)

#Catchup Post

Out of it

 It was a fever haze. 

Hearing "FedEx broke your Little Free Library, Puppy" did not make sense.

Also did not make sense: "I'm going to ask your mom to use her video to make it right" "What will you do for food in the holocaust" (Think that was meant to be "apocalypse" not "holocaust.") "Step out of your comfort zone like a kite live daringly." (Did not know "daringly" was a word, but no squiggly line.)

Luckily, I guess, only the FedEx thing was true. 

So many neighbors offered to help fix the library though and that was lovely.

#CatchupPost

grateful + hopeful

 

anniversary

Twelve months in--hopeful 

and messy with tenderness

a windy, wingless sky and I

my mother and another ask

if I mean to be alone in snow
as time ripens, holding me in

a clamoring for brightness, yet 
as I add in days by the handful
they grow distant, dimming in  

history: years, people, places...
it has been such a long journey 
surely, it wasn't all just to die?

Run Run

I am taken in welcome, the other side beckons, 

but this side waits: like picnic, parachute, seed 

for the perfect moment of expectation and need.

Will you go with me and be my love, be a love?

--The blur of the future is just our pasts outrun

come, the world turns bright for many reasons,

the way is notable, though earth lies wrinkled--

Little beasts; running thundering and carefree,

When will you choose? Would you choose me?

____

C with Scout and Huck on a pandemic-style puppy playdate.

Very Sari

I wore a sari to work yesterday because I felt festive + I want to normalize saris and the difference they embody on my PWI campus. It was one of the intentions I had shared at the beginning of the term with my WGSS class, so when I showed up all floaty and colorful, they seemed quite happy and proud for me. 

I may have tied it too high ("where's the flood?"--the snarks at my high school might have asked), but for the most part, I was comfortable and didn't trip. The tripping thing has been one of my most frequent excuses, so I had to re-evaluate why I don't wear saris to work. 

Other Indian aunties are wearing saris to everything from construction jobs to yoga to designing spacecraft. Why don't I?  I really do think it's because all the ones I have are gifts and meant for festivities and too shiny or drippy with zari/fake pearls/pompoms/gems/stonework. I need a sari wardrobe for work--but I feel weird buying stuff for myself so soon after a day when I got so many presents.

This one, BTW, is a 'house sari' discard from one of my mom's visits. In fact, it was from her first visit when At was a newborn, so it's nearly 22 years old. Very nearly vintage. Wild. 

Happy Birthday to me!

My birthday usually falls right in the middle of Spring Break... Except we started a week later this year, so for the first time I was teaching on my birthday. I got all excited about this and stocked up on birthday treats like I was in elementary school. And my students, for whom the treats were meant, were so sweet and wrote happy birthday notes on notebook paper and asked if they could sing for me. 

I love my students. 

I was supposed to go home after that last class, but I was hoping to get a birthday hug from At before I left for home. I sent two texts--including one that read fairly desperately: "Birthday hug: yea or nay"--because it's At and he's completely capable of forgetting my birthday in his gentle, absent-minded way. He texted back that he was very busy, couldn't meet, but would explain later. I was pretty crushed, and remember thinking he could have at least said "Happy Birthday" before he brushed me off. 

Yes, he's in that picture--he'd driven home to have birthday dinner with us. 

I'd asked to be surprised for dinner and it seems like Nu, At, and Big A had each picked three things I like to eat so there was an incongruous all-you-can-eat buffet situation with sushi and green curry and poke* and pao* and a glorious olive oil cake* with raspberries, lemon zest, and pistachios (the last asterisked three by Big A and his kid helpers). AK and KB had dropped by at work, LB and EM dropped by at home, so I have more presents than I deserve.  More books to read, notebooks to write in, so much chocolate, and so many bath bombs.

At had parked at the end of the cul-de-sac because his presence-present was a surprise, so I got in a magic walk by starlight when I walked him to his car. And then some magic--albeit smelly--cuddles with Scout, Huck, Nu, and Big A to end the day.

Meantime

 

It turns out that ignoring symptoms for months on end doesn't make them go away and your doctor may freak out and send you for emergency tests when you finally show up after months of reminders. In between radiology and ultrasound there were about 45 minutes when no one needed to look at my body today. 

I was so exhausted from everything, I curled up on the examination table, and somehow had one of the best naps ever.

Mad at Mama

Big A locked them in their room because their paws were wet...  but I'm the one getting the glares!

 

whirlpool

When each glance is visitation

howling histories of trespass 

you climb into every boat

rocking the ebb of panic

the flows of despair

hoping for survival

A cataract at our junction of

citizenship and humanity

that you are makes us all 

fragile--an insecure craft 

whose soft capsizing 

powers us to revolt

Most recently this, but really an ongoing and unmitigated concern.

(Photo: Moore Park with BS)

luminate

At this join, I think to say who 

I am, but have softly rotting

forgotten 

in clusters of contrapuntal 

pleasure--urgent, charmed

reachings

until I'm arriving like a light

rippling rings of experience,

chiming-- 

not now, not enough--so gaudy, 

so greedy, and ekphrastic from

imagining

(Baker Woods with L)

Thaw

I looked up from my desk to this glorious sunlit sky in my sliver of office window. Being here physically was relief and sustenance after the torture of trying to make things go right with Nu yesterday.

Reading students encountering Laura Mulvey, Hanif Kureishi, and Shauna Singh Baldwin, introducing a new class to invitational rhetoric, referencing an old student's lesson plan involving the 'Red Rover' game... everything felt like a fresh spring--at least in my soul.

By the time I got home to little Nu, the 'sad' part persisted, but the 'mad' part had melted away.