assisted living

grass and sky haven't have heard yet 

and I let the unknown speak for me

tricky forests spring up like questions

I will keep seeking a story I read as a kid

with its sad embrace of a torn telegram 

whose yellow moths follow me forever 

even the temporary kingdom of my trust

where lie grave jokes of literature and life 

about what could have been... has been

O I say--we are such strange creatures

I hear about chimp haven; feel a relief 

for beloved elders finding assisted living

Friends, the only breath in cages is death 

maybe we use shards and shadows to knit 

soft shelters to lay over this thing called life?

--------------------------------------------------------------

Related/Random BOC

* I read a story when I was 9/10--I think of it as my first grownup story--about a man who tears up a telegram bearing bad news about his wife and baby in order to pretend to his fellow train passengers that all is well. The story sat between Hawthorne ("Young Goodman Brown") and Thurber ("The Catbird Seat") in an anthology of great American short stories (likely someone's discarded textbook), but I don't know the title or author despite a great number of patchy google searches.

* I couldn't get through to mom or sis on the phone today and was panicked enough to ask my cousin to check on them... turns out his wife, daughter, and mom are also down with the virus.

* The pulmonologist thinks my mom will be ok and back to normal in a couple of weeks.

* The story about the NIH chimps going to Chimp Haven was from my commute to work this morning.

* And there was a planning meeting for the conference in Minneapolis--so I was hearing Prince too, I guess.

anniversary!

The anniversary of our first date! Who knew on that epic first date like... decades ago when we walked across the Brooklyn Bridge and hung out all day eating in three-four different places that we'd still be celebrating all these years later. We usually do a long walk, but we're both on deadline and the day threw us some surprises, so we went for a "Downton" before dinner in the backyard instead. (Nu grabbed a couple of pictures of us!) 

I think I used to write about those early days long, long ago. In other news, I miss NYC.  

In very serious news, which I've shoved to the back of my consciousness in order to function, my sister texted to say my mom has just tested positive for Covid (but not my dad... yet). Dreading the next few days.

breakthroughs

A breakthrough in family therapy for Nu and Big A--a moment just beautiful in its vulnerability. I am so proud of these two stubborn people who don't give up. 

And a welcome breakthrough on an essay I'm working on just as I was falling asleep last night. I was too tired to even scratch out a note for myself, but it lingered when I sat down to work the next morning. Like all the best solutions, it was there all along! 

In other news, I'd sent out a flawed proposal and instead of being rejected, one of the evaluators messaged me backchannel to revise and resubmit--which I did. It reminded me of this story on bias I heard on the radio detailing how well networked people benefit from excuses and clemencies unavailable to others. I never thought, I guess, that I would be on the receiving end of such benefaction. 

And of course, putting it all into perspective--the James Webb telescope has settled into its permanent orbit and I wonder what else we'll learn about ourselves. 

Solid

Finally at that stage where the Red Cedar is frozen solid and the crazy college kids have cleared patches to play hockey on it. A day that was prettier to be in--with the snow falling lightly--than it was to photograph.

But I went outside today. I started some good sabbatical habits--working steadily through the day until it was time to pick up Nu. Got a proposal sent off; whittled the chapter that was at 20K down to 11K. It needs to be at 8K--so I guess I know what I'm doing tomorrow. 

in passing through

our midday is swollen

heavy with snow, sun,

the pitch of children

held borderless in joy

the zip-lining lunacy 

of answered smiles

anthems of exchange

pleating through time 

if someday we unstitch

don't hoard the vanished

remember, yes--remember

our own lavish heap of life

ECG Sonnet

did you drown in my eyes
and sink into my heart
quicken my blood
dissolve our lives

into one line

staticky 

vagal

benign

and beautiful

in the way of love 

of those too far gone

one fire quenched only 

with another--far fiercer

to bury ourselves, be born

Looking up

Today was nicer. 

I feel normal(ish). 

Nu's long, fraught semester is finally over.

We had cuddly, chatty visit from At.

A soul-affirming planning meeting with the Tender Hearts Garden collective.

Started a good book: Lily King's Five Tuesdays in Winter.

Started an interesting show: Decoupled on Netflix.* 

And... JG sent pictures from Hawaii where they'll be till April, and I've been encouraged to visit.**

________________________

*Decoupled is clever and the skirmishes between protagonist novelist Arya and real life novelist Chetan Bhagat are uproarious. But the show tries to do that thing where it pretends like the only people who matter in India are upper-middle-class, English speaking folks. In fact, it treats people doing their jobs (security agents, wait staff, domestic workers) as the butt of jokes and that got a bit tiring for me. Also, in this day and age, even real people don't have to live with a name like Arya Iyer--so we certainly don't have to name a fictional character with every upper caste marker there is. Some of it is anti-South bias too? I mean, North Indians seem to think everyone from the south is Madrasi/Iyer.

**I don't think I will go--lately, I've seen too many indigenous Hawaiian activists begging mainlanders not to visit because of Covid. But it's still nice to have pictures. 

"the family I wanted to have"

Another day in bed and too much time to think... and it got me thinking. 

How I haven't seen my parents in three years. How my mom is lowkey disappointed in me because one grandkid hasn't made it to grad school yet and another grandkid is transitioning. (She's stopped saying it out loud, and gets full points for being a supportive grandmom and using the right names and pronouns, but she'll still say perhaps I could "talk" to the kids and "help" them. This included a story of an uncle--a child psychiatrist (!!!)--who "talked" to his kid and she's not lesbian anymore? I tried to tell my mom that's not how sexuality works.)

Why the child who's applying to grad school won't take any advice from his parents when we have about three grad degrees each and could be good resources. We have lots of students and mentees whom we're honored to help, but our own child wants none of it. Why the child who's transitioning is still so unhappy and what else could we do. 

In family therapy the other day--I shared my worry that when Big A begins commuting to Milwaukee in July, it would disrupt the family and all the little traditions and habits we'd built up over the years because can we still do it if Nu and I are the only humans left at home? And the therapist said that I was probably comparing what's left "with the family I used to have... and the family I wanted to have." 💯

Why am I like this?

It was time for the 14-year-old's Covid booster, and I couldn't put mine off any longer, so Nu and I went and got our Covid boosters and Flu shots on Tuesday. Then I spent all day in a feverish haze--my reaction to shots is so over the top. 

I was able to tell time on the bedroom clock only via context. Is this 9:15/2:45? I'd been in bed all day, and it didn't really matter, but I had to crawl to my phone to figure out the right time.

when your child's dorm room makes it to the tabloids

One of the people At went to school with complained at length in the NYPost about campus being "too woke" and mentioned the Mao poster that used to hang in At's dorm room.

Uh-Oh. 

This made me chuckle.

Esp. because this student doesn't know that I (At's mama) got him a Chairman Mao hat when I was in San Fran for a conference and KB offered him more Mao memorabilia from her trip to China.

in agreement

we're the ones using footprints
as poetry... or prophecy

our words as rungs

vowing to climb all the years

counting births and burials

between then and now

fact: it's hard we don't know

if we'll hear hands answer

and clap us back 

nervous, our fingers crossed 

as we reread the fine print

of the universe 

*************

Pic: KB came down to Lansing and I was SO happy to share my favorite woods with a favorite person.