[And isn’t everything risk?]

16 March 2026:

Perfect poem for a solitary, Big Thoughts day. Grateful for Gregory Orr's work.

"And isn’t everything risk?

The beloved lives
Then dies,
Then (if we’re lucky)
Rises again 

Into a poem or song

Or into the world
In some other form
Impossible to predict.

Simplest story, oldest tale: 

Sparrows sing it
From every hedge;
And swallows, also,
From their nests on the ledge." 

That there's a tornado watch in effect also feels appropriate as the weather outside veers from bright sun to storms and back again.

"Golden"

15 March 2026: A lot of the big awards are still yet to handed out, but "Golden" just won an Oscar, reminding me of sitting in the car with Erin less than a week ago. By the fourth time that song came over the radio, I said to her, "I mean, it really is a banger." Undeniable appeal across demographics. 

Another early sign...

14 March 2026: The temperature is supposed to crash early this coming week, but today was pretty nice--in the 50s and sunny.

And on my walk today, I passed a lovely early sign of spring's impending arrival: someone mowing their lawn. That smell? Instant mood-lifter. 

Made it...

13 March 2026: Boy, do I need this Spring Break! I've got a pretty decent set of lists of things to do, but I am so happy about having a relaxed schedule to get them done. And so happy to sprinkle in some low-key fun things.

Mantra...

12 March 2026: I went to sleep last night feeling bad about the way I have been showing up for the people in my life who aren’t my students. These past few months have been exhausting and I have so much on my work and life plates, but that’s just not an excuse. And it doesn't matter if I mean it or not; the damage and the way it feels is the same. 

I feel awful about it. Awful. 

Eventually drifted off to sleep thinking about and workshopping a mantra of sorts, a list of verbs I want to practice so I can do better: relax, listen, retract, be humble, serve. Won't write much more about them. It’s enough that I know what they mean. 

Going to try. Gotta do better. Nothing matters more. 

Ryan and Randy

11 March 2026: This morning when I got to campus, I saw Randy, a older man who audits my classes sometimes, walking through the parking lot. We stopped and talked for a bit about fishing. 

(On Monday, Randy offered to give the other students in my American Lit class an introduction to fly fishing one Saturday. A bunch of them said they were interested. Watching this unfold, I was so touched, I said both to myself and to the student whose quiz I was returning, "Best job in the world, right?"--because my goodness, what a gift to get to see things like this happen.)

(I could write a lot about Randy and what a joy it's been to have him in class so many times--and how he reminds me of my dad.)

Anyway, this morning Randy and I talked about fishing for just a minute or so. I told him how Ryan loved fishing and how watching him tie flies was like watching an artist at work.

Always grateful for chances to talk about Ryan in happy ways, especially to people who I think he would have liked a lot--people like Randy. 

"Martha's Lady," again...

10 March 2026: “...life was such a passion and happiness of service that it was impossible not to be devout." --Jewett, "Martha's Lady"

I am getting ready to teach this story again for the first time since 2018, I think. Found myself tearing up all through it for so many reasons. It's achingly beautiful.

Smelling the sweet air...

9 March 2026: Long and busy day (but a good one!). An HLC team was on campus today for a mid-cycle review which meant three separate meetings--in addition to the usual slate of teaching and office hours. But that all went well--with the weather getting points for mood-lifting and energizing vibes. 

Despite the fact that I have a lot of work to get done tonight, I am so pleased to be home, changed into comfy clothes (after a nice bath!), and sitting here grading, watching Bob's Burgers, and smelling the sweet fresh air coming through the open windows. Literally just stopped, closed my eyes, and breathed it in.

And it's still bright out. 

I know yesterday's post was similar, but my goodness: I needed all of this. 

Springing forward...

8 March 2026: Grading ENGL 102 essays (not too bad!) with the windows open while Bob's Burgers reruns play on the TV. Jo, who has been moving between the window and my chair/lap, is settled on the ottoman. Though most of the day was kind of cloudy, the sun is shining now--noteworthy because it's after 6:00 p.m.

So yeah: loving this time change and the spring vibes (though I know we aren't done with chilly weather--and I know tomorrow morning will be rough). 

Home again...

7 March 2026: Got home around 7:00 tonight, almost exactly 36 hours after leaving. It's been a long day and a half, but everything went as well as it could.

I don't think I've ever been to a funeral where the people who talked did a better job creating a perfectly precise and moving depiction of their loved one. There was a single false note. Just a wonderful set of remarks about a very loved man who lived a heck of a life. 

Road trip partner...

6 March 2026:

[Catch-up post...]

Drove up to NY with Erin for Troy's funeral. We've made too many of these trips together lately, but I couldn't ask for a better co-pilot. Somehow we talk the whole time, but it never feels forced. On these last three trips (to see my dad when he was sick, to go back up for his funeral, and now this one), we've literally laughed and cried. We talk stuff out, think through things out loud, and work through big emotions. 

Basically, this is a baby sister appreciation post. Very blessed to have her in my life. 

When you look up...

5 March 2026: ...and this little face is looking back you? That makes a work-from-home day even better.

"Two Friends"

4 March 2026: Had a blast teaching Mary Wilkins Freeman's "Two Friends" in my seminar today, particularly its structure, what it leaves unsaid (and perhaps why), and the ways that "friend" is such a beautifully capacious word.

"I Was There to Hear Your Borning Cry"

3 March 2026: 

   

This morning, I came across the program from my dad's funeral services. My eyes went to the lyrics for this hymn, which we sang at the end. I can remember those moments so clearly, feeling comfort on his behalf--the Lord had him now--and incredible sadness for us, who didn't have him anymore.

This morning, I once again found myself crying at both its reassuring beauty and the ache that remains in his absence.

Crying again hours later, typing this, thinking about yet another funeral this weekend, this one for Troy.

So much in the world is (still) so very hard. I mean, my God, another war? 

The Lord is here for us, though, and has been since the beginning.

"This human life"

2 March 2026: 

"...But from the inside 

this life feels enormous, unlimited 

by the self—by selfness—"

Grateful to come across this Maggie Smith poem in my "Poem-a-Day" email. Sometimes I think about the vastness Smith writes about here and then wonder about the vastness in others. 

It seems to me one of the great projects--responsibilities, even--of living is acknowledging that vastness in others. Getting glimpses of it is often one of life's great pleasures. 

(This is also why the two most recent papers I've been working with my students on--profiles--are so rewarding.)