find out

______________________

Now I dream myself as a tree

my desire amnesiac as winter

yet free as a wind in my veins 

breath now a blur of whispers

shadows revisit, quilt surprises

to deposit at my own bare feet 

_______________________

The sermon today (and all February) at UU was about love. But sadly, I spent at least ten minutes fuming in an unlovely, unloving way because I heard the person sitting behind us say to my 15-year-old Nu (masked and dressed in all-black and a hoodie, as always) that if they had shown up like this three years ago, people would be calling the police and they might have been arrested. I think this person was trying to be funny, but it was a weird thing to say to teenager who was there with their very brown mother. I turned around at the end of the service to offer my perspective with "love and respect," but then realized that the person who'd said that to Nu was very old and very stooped and probably a first-time visitor (no name badge, just the "My name is" sticker) so I ended up not saying anything. 

But WTF.

Anytime people mention hoodies as an indication of menace or wrongdoing, it reminds me of what a big deal people made of it when Trayvon Martin was hunted and murdered. And Twitter just reminded me that today is the 11th anniversary of his death. Now I'm mad all over again.

Pic: Baker Woods in the afternoon sunshine.

song of forgetfulness

the birds who live through winter know 
how it is possible to be lonely 
buried in never ending seams of snow 
their small calls lie unanswered

yet

stoic, they tuck distance under each wing

as if for a soft, shapeless journey 

and seeing them lets me dream of spring

begin remembering the way out

ice, ice, Friday

I have to laugh because everyone at work asked how the drive up was, and to be honest--the iffiest part was our very long driveway. We still have crystal trees and a driveway that could be a skating rink. I thought our high of 46 yesterday would melt everything, but I was wrong. 

I also thought for sure that the falling ice--which was SO loud--would take out our roof and that we might lose power and I was wrong on both those counts... I'm happy to be wrong sometimes. 

Book club (Demon Copperhead) got postponed and an after-work hang with girlfriends got canceled. So I got home from work, dropped off At's new bank card (they lost their wallet last week), and hunkered down for an evening with Nu, Scout, and Huck (and Big A on Portal). I made a fish curry; Nu thought it was a stew: po-tay-toe, poh-tah-toe. Then an impromptu song fest with every Friday-themed song we could think of, including this one.

Pic: The backyard trees are sparkly, heavy, and creaky with ice. So pretty and a bit menacing.

OMG/ChatGPT/Canon in D

I took a trip down memory lane earlier this week when I recalled the first time I heard Pachelbel's "Canon in D". 

Then on a whim I sauntered down AI Alley when I asked ChatGPT to write me a poem based on that incident. ChatGPT obliged with the poem on the left. 

It's quite the doggerel. 

Which is why I don't share the moral panic about students using it to cheat on essays and exams. From everything I've seen, ChatGPT seems to tend towards the bland and the banal. I think I'd be able to tell something was off from the odd combination of impeccable grammar and tediously repetitive sentences.

Famous last words as I head off to grade midterm essays and exams...

snippets

Ice storms today and no school for Nu (no school tomorrow either, as a matter of fact). Luckily, Big A was home so Nu got a nice, lazy day at home without having to schlep it to my work. 

Pic: I'm asleep with Scout and Huck on me. I wonder why I'm so serious in sleep.

A Shift

my bed is the place I remember
things I forgot at my desk

although I can't see in the dark

I can still see darkness 

work is a metropolis of clouds

and softest unknowing

I seek out the eye of the storm

and plan to claw it out  

*

circle of care

In class, I'll sometimes joke that I'm not the late, great Maya (Angelou)--I'm the regular, living Maya, so when I saw this card on the podium in the classroom, I chuckled. 

But the kind words inside about the classroom being a "positive space" where they could "learn and grow"nearly made me cry. 

It has been a tough couple of weeks for all of us in this part of Michigan. The streets and sidewalks are full of election lawn signs repurposed to offer support and bouquets left at impromptu shrines all over the place.  I now know of way too many first degree survivors of the shooting. Classes resumed yesterday at MSU and I'm proud of students for continuing to demonstrate at the capitol and demand common-sense gun reform.

I am sad that second-degree survivors like my students who stayed on the phone with their MSU friends during lockdown or were traumatized by proximity and details have just been expected to show up and carry out their duties as if nothing happened. (I'm mostly guilty of this too. It's difficult to do something substantial without institutional approval.)

In the evening, BSL stopped by on her way from dropping off a care package for SE, and I had a care package for her. Not quite O. Henry "Gift of the Magi" style, but for a moment like this, I think I like the ecology of a continuum of care more than a transactional one-to-one economy. And hugs are among the best thing humans do. 

echoes

They played Pachelbel's "Canon in D" on the radio this morning as I was working and it immediately reminded me of my sweet, kind friend CJ. 

She was the student director of the writing center where I worked for my stipend in my first year in the U.S., and she'd invited me over to dinner. She and her philosopher partner were very into classical music and so I started jabbering about this absolutely magical piece I'd heard earlier that day although I didn't know what it was called. Then I started humming it.

CJ and L listened so seriously and then CJ ID-ed it as Pachelbel's "Canon in D" and helpfully added that it was a baroque piece and very famous and lot of people played it at their weddings and so on. 

I've since been to lots of weddings where they did indeed play "Canon in D" and it's CJ I think of every time. I'm so happy to be in touch with her again even it's mostly from a distance.

Pic: Grandpa R (Big A's dad) visited yesterday and I got a picture of the three generations... with iterations of similar foreheads.