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.