To Saginaw, to Saginaw

First cross-country meet of the season. You can tell At by his radioactive green shoes. And the red inhaler he pulls out as he runs his ten-minute mile. So proud of that kid.

It took us an hour to get to Saginaw. I still feel guilty that Big A needs to drive that far and back every  single work day...

_

Today is an animal

Today is an animal
borrowed and sad
done by ten
but going still--
like dead chicken
bamboo shoot

Sun weaned although
It might kill us still
so large and new this
gray maze of morning
sawing through residue
the fixed broadcast eye

_

Ready for College

Nu with kids and college kids

_

Grow

Farmers' Market Stylings

_

Sunshine

_

Thursday's Tales

First full day of kindergarten.

Nu survived and thrived. Then the perfect first day got muddied by not getting on the school bus home--her apologetic teacher said she'd been overwhelmed and had messed up.

We all took a deep breath, dried the tears (mine), cleaned up (the kids) and went house-hunting. Slim pickings, unfortunately. The house in the picture below isn't happening, although I love the grounds and the view it has out in the country...

_

Home-bound

The guarding of the child
like a shadow
dilated smoke

The rest of this afternoon
an absence of centuries
a love scent

The growing clarity

pierced animation

astringent

All the words in the world

waiting, forcing

a fly to fly

_

Guffaw

It took me a moment (or several) to get why this picture of Karl Marx that Bill Clay titled "The only known picture of Marx and Obama" was so funny to my friends.  It makes me snort.

Clint Eastwood reference here.

_

They both start with the letter "R"

I've never paid much attention to the don't-go-out-at-night-by-yourself line. There was always an interesting story as a journo intern or somewhere fun to be or a late night at the library or a necessary grocery run that was too good or important to pass up. I know I'd go bonkers if my kids tried to do the things I've done.

I do take the necessary precautions like all women everywhere. And although there have been a few occasions when I've prickled with fear, I have never spent time worrying about rape. 

So it makes absolutely NO sense that at this particular point in my life, when I'm no longer as gullible or nubile as I once was, to suddenly begin to have fears about rape. True that we're renting in an area that feels a little unsafe. True that I'm sleeping on the first floor for maybe the first time in my life. But it still makes no sense.

Big A wonders if it's because of all the creepy men in women's vagina's lately.

____

Before I forget

While I wait for Nu to turn five next month and start Kindergarten this week, I want to write down stuff as she used to say earlier--just this year.

About how she'd get her Rs and Ms tangled and Ms. Rebecca would become the inscrutable "Ms. Mebecca."

How for years, she used T's for all her Ks. And of how we used to tease her by asking her to say "King Kong" so we could giggle when she went "Ting-Tong" like some squishy doorbell.

I'm forgetting things... I want to start doing this vintage postcard calendar journal with the kids.

Here

I'm singing again
thinking savage
songs separating

Tonight's
bright hinge
muttered, relenting

Our own world
a handful of breath
veined and racing

_

Possible

the gods of the afternoon

the temple of traffic

the battle of the Buddha 

yielding, coming out alright

the siblings barking in my head

on those long trains headed here

_

Voices

Recently, the number of times I've been startled by the sound of a man's voice from the kids' bedrooms upstairs has been legion.

Li'l A, newly 13,  sounds bignormous.

And although he still has my puny wrists and ankles much to his chagrin, the mousey voice he inherited from me is now a grownup boom.

I don't note his mustache--because what south asian, male or female--doesn't have a mustache since they're six months old? (What. Just me? Oops.)

Anyway. If I sound surprised, it's because I was a late bloomer--actually the last to "bloom" in my cohort and expected that my kids would be the same.

Segue to say, I've been trying to get the kids up at 6 a.m. after a summer of late-late mornings. And at that hour the afore-mentioned teen voice sounds positively menacing.

Or cracks with pride as he tells me that his reddit comment got up-voted 238 times today.

Ahem. So when we say some commenter sounds about 13 years old... they very well might be.

Just saying.

_

Week Before Work

Frost sharp as
chin settled on shoulder

looking back
at the pelt of summer

book ruffled
beached by libraries

confiscated bliss
the hypnosis of hope

_

Nu-logisms

She has a freshly-minted teen for a sibling, so 4-year-old Nu sounds like she's in middle school too.

Truer to say she tries to sound like that. Frequently, there's a small hilarious twist somewhere. The ones we're currently enjoying:


REGULAR PHRASE                                                                  NU'S VERSION
"Blew my mind"               -------------------------------------->       It's blowing UP my mind
(EXAMPLE: Alligators in the sewers? Really Nana? That's blowing up my mind!)


REGULAR PHRASE                                                                 NU'S VERSION
"For real"                          ------------------------------------->        For real LIFE
(EXAMPLE: Uh-huh. It IS true. Alligators in the sewers. For REAL LIFE!)

Naturally, we've been going around using "that's blowing up my mind" and "for real life" with abandon. And sometimes people will look at me funny, perhaps because I'm not a native speaker and they're wondering how to let me know that that's not how you're supposed to say it...

_

Show and Tell

Your frown is a silent accordion 

playing down, standing up

standing on fierce ceremony

changing like a carousel

A big tent, this religion

its tenets intense and precise

decorous rules tricky as trapeze 

sharing everything save faith

This is the circus of our discontent 

perched at my waist, sparrow-hope 

and at bottom, on buttered tongue 

a juggle of a few thousand inherited words

-

Scoop

The gossip
leaves tracks
invisible trains
they run all night.

Everything's a window
where--enter: fear;
light is such a small
compass for a life

One day there will be...
there will be something
Today we can just cut
shit out like fingerprints


_

There (and Back Again)

Tired, waiting at the door
yet another rehearsal.
Deportations.
Surrenders--
blur

On folded legs and wheels
we've accumulated maps
for wrongs, words,
and soon--
an edge

I learn to suspect horizons
and they harbor storms
their pennant winds
find us, rush us
clean

_

Stranger

(Kids at school, Big A sleeping off a night shift, My TTR class done) I took a hike.

At minute 1:24, I saw two figures--one of whom had a strange, lopping, unsteady gait. I began prickling with wariness... Till they got closer and I could see it was a nice woman with a headband, walking her horse.

_

Half Empty

We've emptied and packed half the house... the pile of paperwork keeps growing...

_

Dayton Dragons

Found out that they play baseball (not basketball); headed back to the car for some pizza and heat while the other Ohioans in the family pranced around on the lawn in 46-degree weather.

_

Monday Evening's Allergy Shot

... for At, Nu and I went walking around the lake while we waited for him. All it took was one mallard for her inner auctioneer to show.

-

Ginger + Garlic

Knowing I have two jars in the fridge plus the curry powder mom made in the coffee grinder = two nights of easy curry anytime I want...


_

Visitors:

First these two crept in

And then there was even more sunshine

_

To Kill a Mockingjay

In 2010, ten-year-old At (Li'l A) told me I should read The Hunger Games because it was postcolonial and feminist and I would like it. 

I'm glad I did. 

3 Great Reasons You Should Check Out 'The Hunger Games' |

www.alternet.org

The story's visceral feeling of rage and distrust is a perfect counterpart to a revolutionary spring.

Still prefer the books, but the movie sounds okay and comes out today.

_

Shiva

You've hired this happiness

for the flowering day

it waits patiently

multitudinous

diegetic

I'll never forget how you felt
green leaves rust-edged
their first voyages
whispers
sighs

As if you invented a beauty,
in a curl of misfortune
its willing trident
striking flint
delicious


_

Sex and Stones (on Abraham Verghese's Cutting for Stone)

Abraham Verghese is a huge talent. He's saved and improved the lives of more people than I've ever even met, probably. And he knows more (about medicine, certainly, but also most other stuff) than I do. The new book--first novel--is an intense, politically questioning, resonant, transnational saga. The emotional yearning and sexual tension in the novel is immense. I loved it.

And I hated this:

In every account of sex, the women seem to sacrifice themselves. In both encounters that the plot revolves around, I wasn't sure if I were reading about coerced sex/rape: one woman has had a clitoridectomy and seems startled by the experience; another woman gives in to the fondling of a man she idolizes because he is in a drunken panic. Both women are younger and less privileged in a variety of ways including social position, education, and race. Unlike many other literary authors, Verghese is not averse to writing about sex (at length, even). So why then is the sex never playful and honest? Never HAPPY? Why is sex repeatedly the ultimate sacrifice a woman can ever make.

What is this shit?

Verghese's novel begins with twin brothers in the womb and ends with the an endorsement of a father-son connection. Whichever way you look at it, that's male centered (for the bros). Which would explain why all (all!) the women in the novel occupy subservient positions as mother figures (who sacrifice lives--literally by dying in childbirth or by neglecting their health and careers) or as sexual objects (those who share sex freely are typed as servient sex workers or literal servants; alternatively they are the sullied/undeserving siren who betrays).

Can it get worse?

Yes. Wait till the women die--in honest-to-goodness childbirth or of consumption. Some punitively patriarchal novelist could have written this... in the 19th century. I won't think about the acrobatic coincidences and biblical / spiritual / numerological rationalizing that occurs in the book--Verghese's writing can compensate for most of that. If there had just been one female character I could identify with or even one (one!!) female colleague who wasn't subject to elaborate sexualization and with whom the male characters had a respectful relationship, I'd have bought the book.

With more than just my money.

__

Name Changer

Just now, from across another world (I'm heart-deep in an Abraham Verghese novel, about which more later), I heard the kids cheering their dad on as he got his bike ready for the hour-long ride to work tomorrow. "Go dad, GO~Go dad, GO." I could barely recognize their voices.

Baby A (4) doesn't sound like a baby or a toddler, she sounds like a grown kid.

Li'l A (12) doesn't sound little, and the amusingly high voice he seemed to have inherited from me has faded into a sound that's the drawl of a 24-year-old reddit denizen.

Renaming time. Henceforth, Li'l A is "At" and Baby A is "Nu."

So it is written.

__

New neck of the woods

It's completely out of character in that I was born and bred a city kid and will never go camping in my life (if I can help it--all bets off in the zombie apocalypse). BUT I love this house miles from nowhere, nearly an hour from work, and miles down a dirt road. Big A doesn't believe me when I say I'd live there happily.

But the views are incredible. It's kind of a good thing, I suppose, that no moves are imminent since Big A still doesn't know where his workplace will be...

Because a 17-year-old shouldn't be shot to death for "looking suspicious"

Read Michael Skolnik's piece on race profiling.


Sign the justice for Travon Martin petitions at change.org and the signon.org.


Call someone.


Make a noise.


Cry.

_

A world is ending...

Sepia Mutiny (literally the reason I fell for blogging) has decided to fold.

Immense sad.

_

Innocently

innocently, I am being killed

hands wrap around me like prayer

the stretch of my arms losing all hope

happily it is done and gone

in intervals of rain, fallen breath

whirling fantastic, flying into release 

a comet's fragment of track

this hand across my heart saving me 

an empty room to understand everything

_

No Good, Very Bad Day

It's only March, but it feels like May. Warm and toasty. Earth's heating up. Global Warming.

And you can thank me (or kick me). I parked the car in the university parking lot at 9 (running late because Cousin N forgot that she'd promised to take Baby A to school), and returned to it at 10:45 (after several surprise student conferences). To FIND THE ENGINE STILL RUNNING.

The hybrid engine (yes, we have some half-assed intention of conserving fuel) is so quiet (and I had turned the radio down to ask for a visitor parking pass, because my parking permit was in the other car, which had to be TOWED to Columbus yesterday because it broke down) that I hadn't realized that the engine was on.

Home now with two kids sick with snot (and feeling like I deserve this).

_

The Gift of the Police

The local police chief has grandkids similar in age to my kids--I rolled along in his wake this morning as he dropped off the older child at the middle school, and then turned around to drop off the younger one at the hippie alternative school Baby A goes to. Since he was driving under the 20 mph speed limit, I had plenty of time to notice that his license plates were the first three letters of Li'l A's name.

I told him in the parking lot that he has interesting license plates.

And... it turns out that the car is going to be auctioned.

So... if Li'l A wants, he can have the license plates.

And the best part is that they're undercover license plates.

I know at least one geeky tween who's going to be so happy on the ride back home!

_

Phony 2012

At the behest of the student newspaper, my thoughts on the Invisible Children documentary, Kony 2012: (I didn't use swear words and fist shaking since I didn't want to scare the young 'uns.)

I would like to believe Kony 2012 is a well-intentioned exercise, but in execution it comes off as sensationalist and exploitative posturing. It's also jarringly narcissistic—and repetitively circles around the filmmaker, Jason Russell, instead of the eponymous subjects of his organization, Invisible Children (IC). Overall, it is yet another unfortunate example of the trope of the third-world child manipulated to become a justification for Western interventions. What makes this campaign particularly dangerous is that it calls for a neo-imperialistic military intervention. 

As a viewer, I would protest the condescending and paternalistic presentation of facts in Kony 2012. The explanation that Russell's toddler gets is, literally, what viewers get too. According to experts in the field (see International Crisis Group’s November 2011 publication in the UNHCR, for example), the Lord's Resistance Army (LRA) is no longer a significant threat in Uganda, so the information presented in Kony 2012 is misguided at its best, and willfully misleading at its worst.  Also paternalistic is the presentation of Ugandans solely as victims—the many successful efforts of Ugandan GOs and NGOs on the ground are completely ignored. One of the glaring examples of the ways in which it would appear the film is out of touch with basic ground realities is the way Ugandans are repeatedly referred to as "Africans." (Obviously, Africa is not a country; it is a continent with a myriad non-interchangeable nations!)

As a global citizen, I'm mystified by the focus on a manhunt instead of on relief and reconciliation issues. If 30,000 plus children are hurt and suffering, and the warlord who executed this is in powerless exile, shouldn't the immediate focus of this outreach be about the rehabilitation of these children? The Charity Navigator profile for Invisible Children suggests that as a charity, IC contributes 32% or less of its revenues to operations on the ground that actually protect and educate children. This is unacceptable. The Kony 2012 video urges its viewers to donate $30 to buy bracelets and stickers, donations that fund expensive air travel and other administrative costs for people from San Diego. A far more responsible and utilitarian donation would be to donate to local organizations based and staffed in Uganda such as GUSCO (Gulu Support the Children Organization), in Northern Uganda. 

A few questions:

·      Is Kony 2012 misguided? Yes.

·      Is it banal and sloppy in its presentation? Yes.

·      Is Kony 2012 evil? No. To many, especially young people, this video has brought an awareness and consciousness of realities in other parts of the world. This is welcome, and an example of what Maria Lugones has called “world traveling” or engaging with different ways of living.

·      But can we crowdsource our way to justice? Perhaps. The successes of the Arab Spring are rife with citizen documentaries. But as that example shows, there needs to be committed activism on the ground—being willing to show up to protest while being threatened with guns, for instance.

·      Can so-called slacktivism (the slacker activism of clicking "like," "share," or "retweet" via social media) and shoptivism (buying stuff to signal activist engagement) enable justice? It’s a beginning, but cannot substitute for engaged activism or genuine support. Clicking/Buying a button will never be enough.

Me, Michigan

I've been abruptly announcing to everyone that we're moving to Michigan. Mostly, I don't believe it myself, so saying it aloud and experiencing hearing it is an exercise in extreme dislocation.

Speaking of which--holy selling-house, packing-up, finding-place-to-live, enrolling-everyone-in-new schools!  Lag Liv has been doing this with the kind of aplomb that should be inspiring or frightening, but we're not there yet.

Also, at last parent discussion (that's me and Big A) we decided that we should probably rent for a year before we build our own house. Everything that's out there is either small and dingy with wall-to-wall or huge and ostentatious with wall-to-wall. (Little A has the kind of asthma that's terrified of wall-to-wall.) One house I've been looking at repeatedly, is a not-so-charming trifecta of vinyl siding, beige carpet, and ranch rambling everywhere. It bears little connection to my dream house on Pinterest. But it sits on a lake and one of the online pictures captures the rising sun dead center through the huge windows. I could live with that view for the rest of my life.

But as Big A pointed out, it's inside a gated community and sits on a private lake, and has an obnoxious number of rooms. Where we live now--we live on the edge of a small lake, but it's a semi-public lake and we have neighbors who walk across our yard to visit friends in the nursing home on the other side. That's who we should continue to be. (See, he's not always about fart jokes!) In any case,  Big A is interviewing in Michigan again at the end of the month, so we'll have a better idea of where we could live then...

_

Mindful Embodiment

Spent yesterday in a wonderful workshop on embodied pedagogy with Jen McWeeny, learning and brainstorming ideas on how to enable students to allow experience to count as learning. I want to use more of her work in class, especially the witness circle as a way of getting everyone in class to speak (feel invited to speak).

Today, wished my parents a happy wedding anniversary and brought out the old joke about how I was born a full six days before it. Mindful embodiment, indeed.

_

Happy International Women's Day

Oh. I love Linda Wolf's "Full Woman."

Yet another reminder of how many different kinds of living there are in our world.

Indie Earworms

I canNOT stop listening to this on repeat.


A Facebook friend identified the ragas in Bombay Bicycle Club's "Shuffle" as a mix of Kalyani/Mohanam (Carnatic) and Yaman/Bhoopali (Hindustani), if you're into Indian classical music.

And yes, it sounds a lot like Matt and Kim's "Daylight."

_

Daybreak

There is a river

rubbled wrong

with illicit sun

there is a silence

mighty, fruitful

festering

there are lies 

and examples

legs trailing

into the temple,

comprehending 
monuments

in their unruly

matted and

sultry sleep


_

T(H)AT Seattle

When not being coached on how to interview by my lovely friend P, David Fleming drew me a pretty picture. 

I can't thank P and D enough.

_

Quiet

A rubble of such wrong
a refuge made

sitting here just talking
to me, just me

I say "love" again and again
careful (so full of care)

birthing past and future
star after star

the children define words
with pictures

branching color, fencing
feeling

the root green of difficulty
rooms of blue sky

Science

(for NuNu)

dusty as machines of snow
in rhythm already known

flowers, taller than towers
grown while everyone sleeps

wanting nothing, taking nothing
but the tiniest of mysteries

in the doorway the child stands
frightened by tread as of tigers

pulped in her squinting clutch
the gossamer of dryer lint

Hope (n.) Vs. Hope (v.)

Five students have followed me from last semester and into the new class that started yesterday, so I should be feeling validated as a teacher.

But the teaching gig that I applied to back in November and sent additional material to in December, and interviewed for in Seattle in January, and have obsessed about since I first heard about it in April of 2011 has completely passed me by.

Other scholars have received follow up interviews.

But not me. not me.

Disbelief and crying.

Crying and wondering.

L & N tell me there's something better in store.

I hope so.

-

A Warm

Open, open the door of sky
the sun waits outside

Welcome, welcome, come in
I've walked everywhere

Like the sand's memory
of waves are words

Pilgrims stuttering, saunter in
like blessings upon bread

_

Not Shake and Bake

For the first ever time in our marriage, Big A and I have equal school duty with the kids. I teach a MWF at 9, so Big A drops them off MWF, I pick them up MWF. TTH, I teach an afternoon class till 4, so I drop them off, Big A picks them up.

Equal. I'm launching into an aria of "At Last..."

But not so quick. He asks, "When I drop them off, I can do a Wake and Take, right?"
(Translation: They'll be ready to go, right? All I have to do is wake up and take them?)
(Explanation: He hates morning 'cos he works the late shift and is home around 2/3/4/5/ a.m. so yeah, I can do this.)
(Addendum: For the first time ever, the family schedule is being moulded by my schedule. Yay?)
(Addendum 2: Nope. It's being moulded by kid school schedules.)

_

Dream

The gorilla eating cereal
is real is real
I never knew him
but friends are falling
falling off really high ledges

Husband has been thanked
for something things
he says he never did. Never.
Paler than winter, the approach
of winter--these swells

In the space between wish
and nudged words, a miss,
a mispronounced reality--
an enormous medieval
leech wriggling its lure

_

Get it?

So.

There's actually nothing to see here, and absolutely nothing to get.
But I wanted to chronicle Baby A's endearingly goofy question.
She's watched her older sibling make his geeky little puns, and ask us if we "got it?"
So she's taken to making "jokes"and insistently shrieking, "get it?" at us.

The Cat in the Mat! Get it?

Dr. Moose! Get it?

Go to bed, go to sched; get it?

She's always rewarded with the laughter she wants, because the limpid earnestness of her question is kind of irresistible.

We've taken to yelling "Get it?" at each other with alarming frequency ourselves.

_

Hinge

The past's prelude
In the dark

a child's cough.
Breadth of beginnings
the point of decision
uncome

the phone call

the e-mail

falling is like flight

in my body,

and the earth's--

thoughts run wet

_

(Once)

They say the sky is on our side
greeting the pain uncomfortably.

I think the snow shoulders souls
snapping twigs and keepsakes

Into a flatter season of longing
springing and then re-learning.

Snowdrops by the handful are
already, guiltily offering hope

On our first view of this house
someone else's youth and life.

In a warm corner, like a flare
a picture of Gandhi and the
name "Michael Schwerner"
speak, then flower into trees.

______________
(Remembering the first time we looked at this house in the snow and found snowdrops and Michael Schwerner's posthumous Gandhi award from CORE sitting in the garage. Friend S has always said that--that's when the house spoke to us.)

_

Spin

Yesterday, after I'd dropped the kids off at school and was driving home to work at syllabi and class prep, I ran over a squirrel. I've braked-swerved-stopped for the suicidal little creatures before and would have this time, except that this one leapt out of the undergrowth before I could harness a reaction. Serves me right. I should have biked/walked the kids. I felt the thunk of its body under the wheel and could see its inert form lying an inch or so from the edge of the road. I felt miserable.

I called my mother.

She was horrified. And suggested that to make up for taking a life, I should scatter grain in the garden for other squirrels to eat.

I'm such a bad person, that all I could think of was--but I'm not the one who eats meat! 

_

Yea to Tea

Hello, Michael Graves for Alessi teakettle. How I have loved you from afar. Were you designed for me? For my blue and wine colored kitchen? Or were you designed for me because it's widely-known that I collect birds? 

O, Michael Graves for Alessi teakettle. Whoops. Did you forget I'm too skint/stingy to spend three HUNDRED $$ on a tea kettle? 

Oh hello, Michael Graves for Target teakettle. No birdies? No problem. I prefer your buttercup-yellow knobbed lid to the other one anyway. And $ 29.99 and discounted because you're being discontinued? Well, well. Welcome on in!

Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?

Big A and I watched the Louis C.K. show after the kids went to bed. We're long time fans of LCK back from when he used to write for Chris Rock, had his show on HBO etc. So I was kind of taken aback to hear LCK say his self-marketed website show had gone so well that he had a million dollars all at once for the first time.

Me: I feel bad that LCK didn't have a million all this time.

Big A(outraged): Do you feel bad that we've never either?


(Not so much--I don't expect us to, and I guess I think people on TV are automatically wealthy. That plus he's made so many people laugh--that's worth some good karma in my book.)

_

Li'l Mr. Right

I returned from the grocery store, delighted that I brought back some Mrs. Meyer's products: aromatherapeutic, biodegradable, natural, never tested on animals, ammonia- paraben- phosphate- free.

Li'l A [horrified]: You bought cleaning products called "Mrs. Something"??? Because only women are supposed to clean, right?

At least I'm doing something right?

-

Baby A wants to know:

a) Are there *ANY* kids in India?

(b) What are their names?

(Four-year-olds are thorough!)

Gone

Dreams
of apocalypse
of apology

turn this sheet:
winds are witchy
twitch in tantrum

these sorries--base
and bloodless
  yet seduce

to always elsewhere
arrivals; hearts
apart from here

December--lucent and lost
is patterned frosts
and year's finish

_

Done

PreOCCUPY

It was a weekend of extended socializing--dinner and drinks and friends, and a pub crawl, and a movie and a gallery opening.

It's true that the only money I spent yesterday was on UNICEF, and the only money I may spend today will be on utilitarian Indie art. Yet through it all, there's the outrage of knowing that students were being brutally beaten and terrorized on a variety of campuses for non violent protests. Of seeing the howling courage of untenured assistant professor Nathan Brown's letter demanding the resignation Chancellor Katehi.

So earlier this morning there were some hasty FB exchanges with a colleague at Antioch College. And now, there's one more thing to put on the calendar. A post-kid-bedtime meeting across the kitchen table to draft a teach-in on the #occupy movement across campuses.

_

(Un) Speak

I pilot riposte storms
through landmarks,
the dust of excuses

cycle them past solar
broadcasts, sorrows
innocent as spiders

Soprano speech bides
ordinary time by this
boat on my breath

At a Tangent

We're driving from dinner with friends and towards drinks with friends.

We're supposed to meet at "Sidebar," which makes me giggle like a middle-schooler inwardly because it sounds like "sideboob." I tell Big A, anticipating having to explain what sideboob might mean, but he works it out for himself. I'm disappointed.

So. How did you know?

I see a lot of boobs, Puppy.

: / 

I also see a lot of dicks and balls and buttholes. I've had to stick my finger in a lot more buttholes than you ever will.

One of the many reasons I shouldn't be a doctor.

_

Lisp

Smaller than every sound
and consummating all.
Sorry, I think you have the wrong number
Oops.

Love is turned on
and then is gone.
Take this unlovely thing we call time
oh little child.

__

(Un) Break

Almost everyday that I didn't write here, I felt terrible, as though I was breaking a promise I had made to myself. Other days, I felt terrible anyway, because there was just so much to do that I couldn't spare the time to feel bad about not writing. And although some other deadlines were being met (dinners, grading, family time, job searches), things have felt wrong, off-center, subject to a constant tension resulting from getting things done *just* in the nick of time.

So today, another jab at the restart button.

I'm surprised it's just a week to Thanksgiving. But that's nothing like the shock I got the morning of Oct 28th when I discovered that it was Baby A's Halloween parade in two hours. Both kids had to manufacture their own Halloween costumes--so unlike the years when we decorated, hosted huge Halloween parties, and had costumes picked out a month in advance.  It's a good thing Baby A had her heart set on wearing a sheet to be a ghost (Shades of E.T., plus the book about Corduroy's Best Halloween Ever!) and Li'l A wanted to be Lemonhead Zombie--the fact that I know nothing about what that means is a good indication that the kid's about to be a teenager. (I'm getting old--when I tried to link to my favorite movie of all time, Google gave me a Katy Perry song? Sacrilege!) 

On to pictures! 

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Fall Fun (The Great Pumpkin)

Fall Fun (The Leaf Fight)

Happy Birthday, Baby A!

At Close

Some idle pleasures
but also, idle duties
unworthy of youth;
too old to be killed

Facts as confessions
perimetered clumsily
with great, odd love
receding every day

Betrayal is boundary,
wandering rebellion
listen to its arrhythmia
muted and unsuspecting

Feminists [super heart] Ryan Gosling

No one needs a reason to love Ryan Gosling. (Half Nelson. Drive. Lars and the Real Girl.) If you need a reason, there's this quote that went viral when he was on the Blue Valentine junket:

You have to question a cinematic culture which preaches artistic expression, and yet would support a decision that is clearly a product of a patriarchy-dominant society, which tries to control how women are depicted on screen. The MPAA is okay supporting scenes that portray women in scenarios of sexual torture and violence for entertainment purposes, but they are trying to force us to look away from a scene that shows a woman in a sexual scenario which is both complicit and complex. It’s misogynistic in nature to try and control a woman’s sexual presentation of self. I consider this an issue that is bigger than this film.

Or this Ms. Magazine Post. Or Hugo Schwyzer's Ode.

Or simply this genius mashup of feminist theory and the most dashing actor in Hollywood:

Sometimes the kids add their own decorative touches...

I don't mind the book-mess at all. Kind of love it. Don't even mind so much that the housecleaner left the elephant on the table facing forwards instead of in profile like the elephants on the frieze on the vase (I did say I have a problem :). The dingy guitar-socks, however...

Mid-term Break: Embers

Almost at the end of the midterm break and I'm still struggling to finish Sándor Márai's highly-acclaimed novel Embers. A very sweet (also assiduous) student gave me their copy because they "knew" I would love it.* It's only fair that I try hard to finish it, because I impose my tastes on those poor students all the time, after all.
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*Not to be confused with the student who, throughout his final paper, used my name instead of the name of the protagonist in the novel he was writing about. We weren't able to decide if that was ironic or ignorant or obsessive.


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Embedded

The sex accomplice's
labyrinths, leprosy of lies

his intimacy of technique

his innoculation of anger

his reason is a mirror's body
there is never a void of words
always the cruelty of sounds
he has captured in his mouth

Graffiti

This skin my page,
guttural blasphemy

on the radio
voices are melting

who would you be
fair, ordinary light?

double helixed, sublime
under slight scaffolding

you wait, an injured violin
chiming a century of travel

then your answer reverses
moments I can hear myself

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Back

Fair, hostile sky
grumble of wind

music wakes up,

miscommunicates

an umbrella of rain
splinters of silence

In the cramped cage
of childhood

My mothers already
see everything

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New Bike Summer

Project

All morning, the kids and I walked around town putting up posters for Ubuntu Canteen.

A day perfect in so many ways.

A Taste of the Future

Today at 7:30, I was nearly the first one at the Farmers' Market and it looked completely different from when I typically show up with the kids a good three hours later after breakfast and dilly-dallying around. I must try to do this more often, although the only reason I was there instead of under covers was because I had to drop Li'L A off so he could take the school bus to a cross country meet. The hours vary, but he's usually gone most of Saturday.

We putter around, Baby A and I, doing Saturday toddler stuff, Big A not back from work yet, and it was a reminder that soon, this will be us: Big A at work as usual and Li'l A away at college, making a life. If those are the worst separations fate has in store for us, I won't complain--although they sound chillingly lonely.

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Race, Class, and Gender

There's a lot of yammering about race, class, and gender in most of my classes, but that didn't stop me from being surprised by stuff people I really like have said lately. Friend X and I were talking about some other random stuff when he said:

Your parents must respect you because you married a white guy. 

It bugged me immediately that he would think that
(a) Race: Marrying a white person (like him!) is means of obtaining respect? And we're not talking people who might find me less alien because I happen to be married to one of their own. We're talking about respect from my own parents!
(b) Gender: Marrying "well" is the only way to earn my parents' respect?

I was fuming so I went home and told my mom, who proceeded to unleash the class bomb:

Nevermind, she said. Forget it. What does he know? He doesn't even have a good education, he's just a shopkeeper.

Mortifying.

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Keepsake

boiling restless, this light
amber: caramel of rock

we two live twinned:
same room, one food

memory monsoons: pulp
hearts flatter flower flare

my name: the first intimacy
you have laid on your lips

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If it's Broke Fix it

So I wrote a report asking that the mother be supported through parenting classes and asking for an extension on the permanent custody decision because--duh--she gets out of her transitional correctional facility in January and cannot prove that she can find housing for herself and her child next week.

I sent it off unshowered, having missed most of a night's sleep, raw from tears, having missed my morning run and not talking to my own kids at breakfast time because I was compulsively tweaking drat guardian ad litem report. The director called me in under fifteen minutes to convince me to change my recommendations to the simpler "give CSB custody right now."

We talked for over 45 minutes.

I changed my recommendation as my director directed.

I cried.

I took a shower.

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Bombs

Came home today to a tiny, sweeeet arrangement of yellow and red Dahlias on our doorstep. No note. In a town that get frequently yarnbombed, I think we'd just been flower-bombed. Thanks, anonymous nice person.

It couldn't have happened on a better day, because all day, I'd had bombs going off in my head. I went to visit a mother who may end up losing her parental rights (CSB has filed for permanent custody of the child)  and when I asked her what she thought would be best for the chid, I could literally see her wrestle with her own shortcomings (incarceration, poverty, lack of education, bad parenting) compare them to the glowing report of the foster parents the CSB worker had just given her (partnered couple, solidly middle class, educated, very earnest and caring parents) and break down in tears saying, "I don't know. I don't know. You know?" It was raw. It felt like I had peeled her skin away from her body in one long swathe in the name of effective reportage and all-round meddlesomeness.

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Two Scenes from a Marriage

The water pipes must have been flushed today because all the non filtered taps have been gushing muddy brown. Normally, I'd just deal, but since we lost our weekly housecleaner over a month ago, I've been doing a deep clean of the toilets on Sunday night. This is Monday morning. All that work wasted. I tell Big A.

Big A: I know, Puppy. I felt so bad. That's why I've been trying to direct my pee on all the muddy water marks.

Me: Yeah. You're a helper keeper.

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

No real reason why, but when I got out of the shower this morning I simply had to ask Big A.

Me: You know how... when you orgasm... and it feels like everything is radiating from the pelvic area [I'm all scientific terminology and shit, apparently]... because a dwarf's penis... would be proportionately larger than his relative body size....  does it mean that his orgasm would be that much more intense?

[I think it says something about our level of discourse that Big A doesn't look surprised by this.]

Big A: You would have to ask a dwarf that, Puppy.

Me: You mean they didn't cover this in medical school?

Big A: No.

Me: What a woefully inadequate education.

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Size Swap

Fun clothes swap yesterday: dedicated clotheslines, lots of noshing, unedited critique, even a curtained off dressing area--although everyone was stripping in the middle of the room by the end of the evening.

And I gave away my most "hoochie" shifts to someone all of a foot shorter and way more slender than I've ever been. And shazzam--the clothes looked adorable and right on their new owner! (Apparently, it's only questionably "skanky" when you're showing both leg and cleavage at the same time.)

V and H sized me up with exaggeratedly narrowed eyes and asked if I take a size ___ or ___. And I had to say I've no idea: it's been a while since I've shopped at places that sell stuff by numbered sizes, I'm not modeling anymore, and bonus plus--I have absolutely no idea what I weigh either.

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The Youngest of Us

There was something off about yesterday--and for most of the day I just couldn't put my finger on it.

The grandparents were home instead of on one of their long walks (interminable rain); Big A was off work and in bed (and spent the rest of the day running a half marathon); it wasn't a teaching day for me (so although I was making phone calls and running errands, it was with a glorious lack of deadline); Li'l A was home too (teacher enrichment day).

Baby A--the littlest, most pampered of us--was the only one "at work" making her own playdough, eating it, and "puddling" to her heart's content hard.

Our extra sweetness to her yesterday was faintly tinged with guilt.

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Sneaking into Greek Life

So I've been showing Jean Kilbourne's latest installment of Killing Us Softly to undergraduate writers and being touched about it when yet another student wants to talk about "how I never thought of it that way before."

I've suggested that they bring it up at their next sorority/frat meeting.

Jean Kilbourne is genius. I bring the evil.

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