farewell, 2021*

I'm sure you did the best you could;

* I didn't mean what I said.

 

a better next year

Everyone told me not to do any work over the break: I took their advice; I'm bored. 

This week--with its radio silence on my work email--reminded me how much of my workday is responding to scheduled events and corresponding about projects. I'll need to shift out of that mode over sabbatical so I have something worthwhile at the end of it. I really, really, really need to get in the zone with my writing projects. 

Despite the seemingly universal experience of having 2020 drag and 2021 sprint, I think I ought to compartmentalize more effectively after two years of practicing pandemic panic. That's going to be my big goal for 2022. 

Drove up to the office today to collect some books, water my plants, pick up mail, etc. and I had a lot of time to reflect. (Also feel like I'm on the verge of a big cry--but that could just be from loping through Bewilderment and being too tired to cry at 2 am or whenever it was that I finished it.)

the writing on the trees

night always comes to inherit earth
light follows faraway--hopefully

from emerald to ash the borer hies 

pressing leaf into shadow

tearing through wood with a reason

writing hieroglyphs in hunger

seeming a cousin to cave scribbles

as madness is all to madness 

would you go on a walk with me

through seasons of damage

we can bless the falling of pillars

whittled from feral feasts

recorded on stoic skin and bones

etched into fasting flesh

for every time we've been reduced 

by some primitive scrawl of loss 

___________________________

Pic: I had to step across this tree trunk, which lay in my path in Baker Woods. And it looked like there were some primitive cave-painting-type etchings on it. A Google image search taught me that this is what damage from an emerald ash borer looks like.

abecedarian for 2021

                           OR

Anyway, innocence is a thing I overcome

By becoming a small offering of silence, 

Certain so many things never end at all.  

Destiny--these paths forking to multiply

Erupts into our endings and beginnings

Frames all the lessons I just won't heed

Unfolding in tedious, untidy symmetry

up and down

So many of my Lansing/MSU friends have started using this screenshot as their profile picture, so Nu and I had to watch Don't Look Up, which is the usual Adam McKay genius with many, many moments of cringe and chuckles. It's kind of an allegory for climate change, but works great as a read on the pandemic too. 

Speaking of which, Big A felt a bit symptomatic and we've quarantined him. We tried to order home tests, but of course nothing's readily available. I asked around, and the lovely SH who was saving some for the baby shower let me have a couple. 

He tested negative, but perhaps it's too early? I mean does one have to wait a while? This feels like taking a pregnancy test the day after sex.

post-jolly

Still coming down from Christmas jollities, TBH. 

A couple of Boxing Day visits, but Nu felt a bit stretched thin, so we canceled another visit and headed home to cuddle up with puppies and veg in pajamas. 

I'm calling this Christmas a success. There was a moment on Christmas Eve, when the kids were poking holes in the books (On Tyranny Graphic Edition) I meant to send them to bed with, when I panicked hard about what to do if they didn't like any gifts the next day. But things were Hallmark-perfect on Christmas; all is well.

As I shared with people at Zoom UU this morning, Christmas with an adult child is an evolving celebration. I've been taking notes on how other people are navigating change, and my favorite one is where people go off to some place sunny--I can see that being Big A and me someday. 

Right now though, I'm off to watch the last ever ep of Insecure, which I've been hoarding as my secret Boxing Day treat.

jolly

 from busy beginning 

to messy end