"exchanged"

"May she is not her daughter. Hospital exchanged" [unedited]

I got this text from my mom last night as I was getting ready for bed and I couldn't understand it. Sometimes when my mom types Hindi or Telugu words autocorrect changes them into English and really messes things up, so I have to guess at her texts sometimes--I'm used to that. But I showed this one to Big A because it was so strange, and he got it right away and I was SO impressed... he knows my mom and all her quirks so well! 

(I was trying to highlight my mom's quirks and couldn't decide whether to point out she likes the rapper Nelly or she likes to tease me or she loves to hear me sing or that she has the most unorthodox views of marriage and Hinduism or her pre-marriage days or her fighting days with my dad or how I feel my relationship with her was cloned in a novel after we'd had dinner with the novelist. Yes, I kind of went down a rabbit hole after I searched "mom" on my blog.)

Anyway, the background to that text is my mom's baby sister was widowed earlier this year, and although my aunt had wanted to live by herself, the family pressured her to live with her only child who appears to have put themselves on my aunt's bank accounts and then kicked her out. Big A interpreted my mom's text thus: "Athamma is saying your shitty cousin is not your aunt's real daughter, and that your aunt was given the wrong baby when she delivered at the hospital." I mean, what would it matter--my aunt had brought up my cousin, but yes, that is what my mom was saying. And my mom was so proud of A for figuring it out. 

Pic: This one made me cry. Max was hanging out outside and when I went to find him, he was curled up by Scout's memorial. He never met Scout, of course, but we do sound the wind chimes on our first trip outside every morning, perhaps that's why Max is feeling good vibes there? Or maybe (just maybe) Scout lingers there somehow? I swear--every morning, the tree-of-life solar lantern flickers when I sound the chimes... 

faking, making, breaking

I'm talking to I.T. at Lille and An-Najah Universities to figure out where my Gazan students are and if there is a problem with my Moodle page. 

I expected today to be tough and it was: I was skating on the edge of tears and nauseous all day, but I did ok on this teaching day because I had prepped classes ahead of time, and had willing and engaged students. I even chuckled because of two videos I showed--Trevor Moore's "My Mom's A Bitch" (when we studied Robert Browning's "My Last Duchess" because both are terrific examples of dramatic monologues); and this old B&W clip of Carl Rogers and his client Gloria as we went into Rogerian Rhetoric (to show Rogerian modes in practice and also because it will never not be hilarious to see lightbulbs go off as young people figure out what Gloria's old-fashioned problem is). 

It was a long day at work and I didn't melt down until much later with Big A who is the best. He did suggest that I stop taking on more responsibilities and I kind of am. My CASA director had contacted me with a new case last week, but I'm holding off on accepting it until I figure out how it feels to teach an extra online class this semester.

Pic: Things left for me... The book outside my door was expected. The napkin note is a mystery! It was left under the windshield wiper of my car. At first, I thought it was a parking ticket because I'm driving a loaner from the dealership and it doesn't have my faculty parking sticker. And I can't figure out who it is, because I don't have very many "XOX"-style friendships on campus and none of them are an "L." Perhaps it's an "L" from another facet of my life? Why "L" and not their name? How do they know that's my car? (It's a loaner I picked up just last week.) Mysteries abound! 

missing, mixed up, and meandering

Thank you to everyone who sent good wishes to my missing students in Gaza. I hope it's just that they're goofing off. Also, can you imagine signing up for something like "Literature Survey 2: Romanticism to Post-Modernism," while being bombed and displaced? (I can't.)

I've been thinking about them all day and then those thoughts get mixed up with how much I love my human kids and my canine kids (I don't think I'll ever recover from losing Scout). And then about how when the kids were younger they'd get jealous because they could tell I loved my students. It's no secret that students matter a great deal to me and for the time they are in my care, I love them dearly and consider it an honor when I get to continue to be in their lives as a mentor and get to see their new jobs, and weddings and kids and reinventions. Someday, I'll be like Mr. Chips, my kids just lists of all the young people who have meant so much to me.

(And lately, as I get older, I feel waves of affection for young people in general. Babies and toddlers and little kids and tweens and teens obviously. But also random young people. Like the other day, I passed these two young women with their bags of Trader Joe's groceries and two-buck Chucks under their arms and just... I don't know... could see the evening they'd planned for themselves and was just overcome and hoped they'd have the best time.)

This is why I can't understand how we're going about our lives while children are being killed in the most gruesome ways. When there is so much visual evidence of it happening every day. 

Apparently, there's a video on the news now showing children being burned alive in a hospital. Children. Being burned. While alive. In a hospital. Every detail is a new level of hell. 

A whole year ago, I was horrified and the horrors have just kept multiplying and spreading. At the time, I quoted James Baldwin, "The children are always ours, every single one of them, all over the globe; and I am beginning to suspect that whoever is incapable of recognizing this is incapable of morality." And I love the strength and conviction of Baldwin's statement and simultaneously feel so helpless about getting my government (that could end this horror with a single phone call) to acknowledge it. I feel like a character from The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas protecting sanity and the status quo.

(In the meantime, I better go to bed, so I can do ok for my students who can show up. One of them wrote last week, "This class is my all-time favorite class if I could take this class over and over again I would. Everyday is a favorite moment." [unedited] I mean it sounds a bit Groundhog Day, but little did they know when they wrote that, that it would give me a reason to show up this week.)

entering the scene

still all these years later 

and probably always 

I will know how 

                     even in fall's dull decay 

                     even as I am emptied

                     how rich the world

how it reads many books all 

at once even as I strive

to get through one

                     I wish I didn't lose plots

                     as if I had holes in my 

                     hands and my head

I've even lost the character 

I used to be--who waits

for me to return

                     all her soul's myriad lights 

                     merely dormant mirrors

                     for right now  

________________

Note: I'm trying to escape. I'm playing word games in word worlds because things in the world are too horrific. Another refugee camp (Jabalia) and another hospital (Al Aqsa) were bombed today. The eleven students from Gaza who had signed up for the online course, "Literature Survey 2: Romanticism to Post-Modernism," neither showed up to our weekly class meeting nor responded to the class materials. If this were a regular class, I'd be worried things weren't going well, but in this extraordinary circumstance, I'm so worried something has happened to all my students.

Pic: Autumn colors and orange koi who came up to say hello. (Radiology Gardens; from a walk with LB. Big A and I took a walk right after this one. We got rained on, but stubbornly persisted for a full Super Sparty loop.) 

just look up

I'm not alarmed 

by the new 
today

                       forever is now

                       remembering  

                       is yesterday

cues alighting

on  our  lips

and eyelids

                       speak warnings/

                       seek welcome

                       like this

_____

Pic: I did it! Last month, I hoped to get a picture of geese heading out in a "V" and seem to have managed it. (Not perfectly, but I'm counting it.)

 

A beast and some beauty

It was a beast of a day. The college board has decided that with declining numbers they'll need to cut 33 full-time positions to stay fiscally viable. The sense of panic and grief was constant at today's faculty meeting and at most of the meetings leading into it. Tears, gallows humor, anger... I saw it all. 

On top of the lowgrade panic of the election, this job uncertainty feels almost unbearable. The plan is to announce the cuts by December 15th, which is apparently the deadline the AAUP suggests so people can begin to look for jobs for the next academic year. (But also, with the state of higher ed, what jobs?) 

The two bright spots at work were completing some more paperwork for the prison class (I always procrastinate on paperwork) and a mood-uplifting meeting with my student, faculty, and staff sisters on the Women's Board.

At home, it was Nu's actual birthday, and they seem kind of lit up from within. Heart eyes. 

Pic: The evening sky on my way home from work. The wind turbines and the cornfields make this so innately mid-Michgan. (I cropped out most of the car--I know, I know, I shouldn't be taking pictures--it was just so pretty though.)

going on 17

Nu turns 17 tomorrow and they have plans with friends, so we had our family celebration today with pizza, cake, and presents. Nu rarely wants things, so we collaborated on a list of 70 songs about 17-year-olds that they loved. Steph, did something like this for North, I think? We weeded out the more letchy ones (there are so many songs about adult men checking out 17-year-old girls!) and tried to find songs that described being 17. The top ones: "Seventeen without a purpose or direction, we don't owe anyone a fucking explanation" (The Rock Show, Blink-182); "You won't be seventeen forever and we can get away with this tonight" (Seventeen Forever, Metro Station); "Pack me up and put me in a time machine, so I can remember when we were seventeen" (Seventeen, Four Year Strong). There are so many songs about being 17, and Nu thinks it has something to do with the number of syllables in "seventeen," rather than the age itself. Also: The grandparents sent gift cards and cash, this Pack Rat puppet who carries a knapsack might be their new purse, they have a new speaker for their room, and a snack box from Japan. 

Big A is working tonight, so he headed to bed after dinner while the kids and I headed out to see The Substance. It was a bit heavy-handed and the body horror was extreme enough to make me want to retch--but the kids thought it was all hilarious. What on earth have I wrought?! 

After we dropped At off, Nu started to play Imogen Heap on the car stereo. I don't even know how Nu found this music that's now nearly 20 years old... I internally debated whether I should tell them that I had always thought of "Goodnight and Go" as my song for A (not the stalker-y bits, but the "must you make me laugh so much" section and also the oops missed the train home part). I ended up telling them, and then they earnestly asked me if I would be okay "sharing" the song with them. I guess the kids are alright after all. 

(Whom am I kidding? I love my little humans to bits... I can't believe this may be Nu's last birthday at home.)

Pic: Nu's delicious (pumpkin cheese)cake looks like it has a hundred candles because there are candles spelling out "Happy Birthday" in addition to their 17 candles.

coming back around

Friends and family in the path of Hurricane Milton are beginning to "mark" themselves safe; I hope that continues. For right now, it feels lovely to be back home where everything is normal and human-sized (as opposed to thousands of feet tall or deep à la Arches and Canyonlands). 

And on my first full day back, these four beautiful encounters felt like blessings.

1) When I went to pick up the holy basil (Tulsi) plant from the people selling it, they turned out to be a South Indian mother-daughter pair who were so, so nice. The daughter was relocating to the U.K. and when I told them that I had done my doctorate in the U.K., she turned out to be an Oxford Alumna too. At that point, they--naturally--invited me to come in and have "coffee and tiffin." 

2) Although it was mostly an intro to their online tech and learning platform (Moodle), there was a sense of solidarity at the Zoom meeting for the volunteer Gaza instructors. (The initiative is led by Lille University in France and hosted by AnNajah University in Palestine.) I gulped when the admin said it would be good to record lectures because students may not have internet access or electricity at class meeting times. Most of the other instructors were men, so when I spotted someone who appeared to be a woman, I Facebook-friended them like it was 2006. Then KK and I had a heartfelt exchange about why we were doing this and swore comradeship. 

3) Finally, and for no reason I can think of, my masseuse AM decided to gift me today's massage. First I demurred, then I refused outright... but she shut me down by saying she knew I would respect her decision. This feels too, too much--massaging is strenuous work and a whole hour out of her workday is too generous. When I asked her, she merely smiled and said, "What goes around comes around." Which is inscrutable but fair, I guess. But she doesn't know much about me and I really haven't ever done anything special for her. (Although I clearly need to now. Ideas welcome.)

4) Pic: It's late in the year, but I think this is a fritillary? They were just soaking up the sunshine and doing that thing where they open and close their wings--as though in pure pleasure. I kind of felt like that myself at odd moments during the day. 

goodbyes and good buys

This has already been a longer trip than our usual getaways, and I'm glad to head home, but I'm also sad to say goodbye. I would never choose to live in this rocky, arid place that is astoundingly beautiful and we have no plans to return in the foreseeable future as we have no family here and there are so many more National Parks to explore. So this is a proper goodbye for now. 

Things that have been absolute lifesavers on this trip--sunhats, sunscreen, snacks, and a backpack hydropack (like Camelback). I may have to make an exception to my no-buy rule because I saw someone in the airport restroom who had a tote they were carrying like a backpack (it had both tote and backpack handles). And now I really want one! I've been a carry-on-only traveler forever, and I think I'd look more grown up with a tote instead of a backpack!

Also: I was embarrassingly in "little lady" mode on this trip. I'm usually an equal partner, but I was extra dependent on this trip what with my busted-up splinted finger and being unable to deal with lifting my own suitcase, not wanting to drive that beast of an SUV, and my freakout (freakouts? I'll never tell!) about falling. I hope this changes back soon.

Pic: Goodbye Colorado River! #LaterPost 10/10

more than words... or pictures

The vastness of Canyonlands is immense--I'm still not sure I get it. To me, Arches seemed full of towering bluffs. Canyonlands seemed like vistas of canyons set out thousands of feet below us (Grand View Point has an elevation of 6000 ft.) and then on that level, there are further canyons going down hundreds or thousands of feet more (or that's what it looked like from our distant viewpoint). 

Canyonlands National Park is 527 square miles so it can take an hour or double that depending on where one wants to enter. We went with the closer entry point, Island in the Sun, which is also where the visitor center is so we could get the kids their socks and our National Parks Passport stamped. 

We did three hikes today: Murphy Overlook, Murphy Point, and the hike around the rim from Grand View Point. The heights are dizzying. And it was a nice literal reminder not to gaze too deep into the abyss. As we walked, I clarified my limitations about hiking around heights. If I can trip full length and then pick myself up and carry on, I'm fine with it; I draw the line at hiking on paths where a trip and fall might mean I fall off the cliff. That's reasonable, right? The geological scale of the depths at Canyonlands was somehow particularly terrifying--it was as though one would be falling down aeons and eras. 

Pic: We took a few "ussies" with this view, but our heads were getting in the way of all this awesomeness. #LaterPost 10/10

it's... a lot

We did so much at Arches today: Devil's Garden, Landscape Arch, Double Arch, Windows (North, South, the Turret), Pine Tree Arch, Sand Dune Arch, Eden Point. Double Arch was unexpectedly mindblowing for such a simple walk. There are reportedly 2000 arches, and we've barely seen 10%.  

While at Panorama* Point, we decided to return to the park at night to see the night skies without light pollution. I wondered if we should ask a park ranger when the right time to come see the stars would be and Big A said he knew when... "after dark." Har Har. 

So we came back after dark... and goodness--I've never seen stars like that. They were so numerous, I couldn't even make out constellations--it was like I was looking at galaxies layered over each other. We just lay on the cold concrete benches in the lookout area looking up at the sky, holding hands, and marveling in sighs and silence and occasional exclamations. 

Pic: A and me under the soar of Landscape Arch. 

*Let me note that I always have to say this word in my head before I say it out loud. My mom's name is "Manorama" so I'm prone to mispronouncing "Panorama" to rhyme with mom's name. #LaterPost 10/9.