Banana bliss...

31 July 2026: Yesterday, Jo provided some much needed light through her essential Jo-ness. Today, it was BabyCat's turn, showing off her glorious fluff while passed out after playing with the old catnip-filled banana. 

Dramatic snoozing...

30 July 2026: Another day about which, boringly and depressingly, I feel compelled to say that so much is bad and sad and hard. Grateful for the light that shines through, including from this silly, dramatic bundle of chaos and love.

Hadestown

29 July 2026: Got a chance to see the filmed version of Hadestown just before it ended its theatrical run. Really enjoyed it and found myself thinking about all the Orpheus-themed works I've encountered over the years. Really is the summer of being grateful for your early training in mythology. 

Caught her mid-prance...

28 July 2026: This cat loves to prance. I always think she looks like a cat ballerina when she walks.

"This Isn't Final"

27 July 2026: 

"Don't give up on all that you love

Just because it's getting hard

And don't give up on the person you've become

Just because it's getting dark" --Lily Kershaw, "This Isn't Final"

Sunday snapshots...

26 July 2026: Some images from today that make me happy. 

(BabyCat lives here, too, and is always worth looking at--I just didn't catch her posing when I had my phone out.)

Home makes me happy.

First day in WV...

25 July 2026: Made it back to West Virginia in great time and she's getting settled in. Not happy, but does seem to like the open window. She'll stay in the office by herself for a least a couple of days, I think.

Lots of Big Thoughts on my drive. So much sadness. It's the anniversary of losing Ryan, too. 

But it's a profound thing to take an animal in and commit to loving it and caring for it. And it's striking how quickly they work their way right into your heart. 

Somewhere in New Jersey, "You Are the Sunshine of My Life" came on. I thought to myself, "this little cat is just that--sunshine breaking through all this darkness. And 'that's while I'll always be around' for her." 

I don't like change and this will be a big adjustment for Jo and Veronica. But we'll make it work. 

Cat-napping...

24 July 2026: Tomorrow morning, this little one, my parents' cat Annie, will join me for the long ride to West Virginia. Praying that she adjusts well to life with Veronica and Jo (and me). She's a real sweetie and just the perfect amount of weird.

We meet again...

23 July 2026: Stopped by my youthful angst stomping ground this morning on my walk. 

Slightly better vibes than the previous two stops.

Free knots...

22 July 2026: At the end of a very long day (a nine hour drive to NY--three hours longer that usual; a visit with my mom at the hospital for about four hours), I stopped at a local pizza joint in Rocky Point for a slice. Because I am me, I talked to the guys working there. I told them a bit about my long day--mostly because I was grateful they were still open. 

I told them how I always gotta get a slice when I am up here. They were so wonderful and kind...tried to give me a free second slice and when I said "no, thanks," they threw in some garlic knots instead.

Don't believe what people tell you about New Yorkers. They rule. 

2.5 hours of distraction...

21 July 2026: Another trip to NY tomorrow and there's so much on my mind and heart. Grateful for the 2.5+ hour distraction of the weekly trivia game. 

It's not just a distraction, of course: it's also the chance to be around nice people hanging out with people they like and having a good time. It's pretty cool. It's also "bring your grandchildren" season, which makes me smile. 

Twelve!

20 July 2026: Rough day in our family, but a bit of joy found its way in, as Evan turned 12. He and I had a nice phone chat (complete with my singing telegram). Then later, Tara sent me a video of him showing off the Lego model that I sent him and he put together. He's just a good kid and makes me smile.

Sunday morning tableau

19 July 2026: 

This lovely little tableau sort of stopped me in my tracks when I got out of the shower this morning. 

The open window.

The new curtains--that just delight me--blowing in the breeze.

Jo's beloved Gray Mousie.

Jo herself, waiting for me to throw it.

On the bedside table, the little plush Jesus that Jane got me months ago because when she sent a pic to the group chat, I said it was "cute." (It is.) She finally had a chance to give it to me last week.

Took a moment, breathed it in and thought,  "My home...and I am so lucky."

Vigil

18 July 2026: Not sure how I feel about George Saunders' Vigil, which I finished this afternoon, but these lines sure did speak to me at this moment in time:

"I could comfort.

I could.

Thank you, thank you, I whispered" (172).

Work Cited

Saunders, George. Vigil. Random House, 2026.

Three boxes...

17 July 2026: 

Kind of made her choose...we are back to just two. (The newest, the one she's sitting in above, is now in the recycling bin.)

For the historical record (ha!), I also want to note that the air quality is so bad from the wildfire smoke that my eyes burned on my walk. The smoke smell also gets in the house, even with all the windows closed. Apocalyptic vibes, indeed.

Mid-July vibes...

16 July 2026: Pretty quiet day here today, but I managed to get a lot done. Got a lien-free title for the car (took less than 15 minutes at the DMV, I think?), did some cleaning out of my kitchen cabinets and took a bunch of stuff to Goodwill (inspired by cleaning out the Martinsburg house), and did some "work work," too. 

All of that is good...but the vibes all around sure seem oppresive. Can't be outside too long because of the heat and the wildfire smoke. Can't even eat salad or berries without worrying. So many signs of broken systems in a broken country. And so much uncertainty with my mom.

I meant to get even more done tonight, but might just take is easy. Checking out the new Little House on the Prairie. Hope it's good.

Trivia playing...

15 July 2026: For the first time in forever, I was a trivia player and not a host. A couple who plays at Rumsey every week have been asking me (also forever) to join them for a different company's game at the Casino. Finally decided to do it and had a really great time. Hope I can do it again.

Gotta find fun and joy when/where I can.

"The Eye"

14 July 2026: "You can dance in a hurricane / But only if you're standing in the eye..."

Trying to get to the eye today, if not to dance, to simply find some control. 

This summer's research agenda...

13 July 2026: In the spring, when I was thinking about this summer, I had a modestly ambitious research plan: work on turning my conference paper on Not Quite a Ghost into a full-length article. By the time the summer started, with my mom's health crashing, I knew that wasn't going to happen. My heart and my head just weren't in that writing mode. 

A few weeks ago, I started to think about another summer with not much to show for it. I am kind of used to not having big adventures or fun stories, but I can usually at least say, "I got a lot of work done." And I don't want to keep dumping sad news on folks.

Tonight, though, I am realizing two things: 

1) I've gotten a heck of a lot done this summer already. Wrote a big grant application. Taught the Summer Institute. Worked on Common Reading stuff with Hannah. Got two syllabi ready. And a bunch more little projects. That makes me feel good, even if it doesn't scratch that writing itch in the same way. 

2) I also got professional development work done--just a different kind. And here I am grateful for two new Associate Editor roles that I've taken on: for the McFarland series and for Studies in American Humor. I've reviewed and sent out articles for the journal, learning new skills and to read in a slightly different way. For McFarland, I am once again working through a manuscript that excites me so much--and that I feel I can help make even better. This kind of work--easier to wrap my distracted head around--is meaningful.

Now I find myself tempted to erase everything above. I want to push away those cliched, "Things seemed bad, but here's a bright spot" kind of posts, which I think I write too often. And texts from New York as I write this are so bleak and sad. Who the hell cares about a research agenda? 

Maybe I'll let it stand, though, as an artifact of a moment in this hard, sad, and strange summer.

The "Little Ones" Cleaning Team...

12 July 2026: Erin met me out at my parents' Martinsburg house to help with the clean-up/clean-out. I can't say enough how much help she was and how much real progress we made together. I feel a million times better about it all--despite being tired and dirty afterwards. 

She is a rock for me and a sanity checker. Profoundly grateful for her. 

As for the post's title, when we were growing up, the rest of the family called us "the little ones..."

A friendship divided...

12 July 2026: 

[Catch-up post...]

Had a great time yesterday with Jane, Kara, Patrick, Connor, and Maggie seeing the Nats play the Yankees.

This was my first Yankee game in forever. Seriously: it might be 20 years?

The Yankees won with a home-run driven come-back in the 8th (just like the night before). They also won today, again with a comeback.

"each wind is self-registering..."

10 July 2026: "The wind-driven rain had carved ruler-straight ridges behind each pebble, from which he could read the precise direction of the storm. 'All this is perfectly distinct to an observant eye,' he wrote, 'and yet could easily pass unnoticed by most. Thus each wind is self-registering.' With this he closed his Journal, his great monument to self-registration, forever" (Walls 493).

Finished the Thoreau biography this morning in the waiting room of the walk-in clinic. I think being in public prevented me from getting too teary as it closed out. 

Amazing life. Amazing book. 

(Finally decided to get this crud looked at. The verdict is something viral. Got a nasal spray and steroids.) 

Work Cited

Walls, Laura Dassow. Henry David Thoreau: A Life. The U of Chicago P, 2017.

Cold Case

9 July 2026: Yesterday I discovered that a network I didn't even know I had is showing a block of Cold Case episodes every afternoon. 

This is very good news: I really liked this procedural in my grad school days--Rita and Vogel used to come over to my apartment to watch it. We'd cook dinner and everything. And I remember some of these episodes so well. (We'd also play a game where you had to guess the killer before the last act break.)

It's also potentially very bad news, maybe distracting me from my work. Ha.

Anyway, an episode started today that I instantly remembered, including that Jason Dohring, who I loved so much on Veronica Mars, was in it. And man--rewatching this? You see everything in that performance that you would later see in Logan Echolls.

In fact, I was just thinking that when a graphic popped up...

Okay, StartTV...why is your programmer targeting me this way? 

"How swiftly, at last, but unnoticed..."

8 July 2026: In 1859, shortly after his father died, Thoreau wrote to a friend, "How swiftly, at last, but unnoticed, a generation passes away!" (qtd in. Walls 437).

Once again, this biography reveals a Thoreau whose life and words stretch through time, touching this moment. As I work to clean up and clean out the my parents' Martinsburg house, they are especially poignant and well-timed. 

Less than thirty pages left and I find myself sad that I'll be done soon...

Work Cited

Walls, Laura Dassow. Henry David Thoreau: A Life. The U of Chicago P, 2017.

His favorite spot...

7 July 2026: Thinking about something I learned today from someone who knew my dad. Something that changed--just a bit--how I feel about a subject that he and I really disagreed about. I know I am being vague, but it's enough to say that I am grateful for that insight. 

Progress...

6 July 2026: I've got a weird little summer cold--not ideal--but I tried not to let it slow me down today. Again, I feel the need to get as ahead on everything as I can, especially in a week with no travel and not a long on my calendar. 

So, it felt good to make a lot of progress on my ENGL 301 course prep, some work for Studies in American Humor, and on closing out our Department of Education grant. That last one feels really good. Cannot wait for that all to be done.

Also have a fresh manuscript for McFarland to look over (in my role as Associate Editor of the series). I'll really dive into that tomorrow.

As I type so often, bit by bit...

Sundays with Henry, Veronica, and Jo...

5 July 2026: 

"When Min, a Maltese kitten, joined the household, her wild freaks delighted him and he played with her by the hour, pausing to shake his head in his Journal: 'What sort of philosophers are we, who know nothing of the origin and destiny of cats?'" (Walls 283).

Still working my way through Walls' biography of Thoreau, seeing connections--both profound and silly--on every page. 

Work Cited

Walls, Laura Dassow. Henry David Thoreau: A Life. The U of Chicago P, 2017.

250th...

4 July 2026: Spent the day with some of my favorite people. Home by late afternon just in time for some big storms to roll through and break the heat. Nice to have the windows open after days...

Culture Gabfest

3 July 2026: A few years ago, I started to wonder about what it would be like if/when podcasts I've been listening to for well over a decade end. It's like a pale version of imagining the end of a "real-life" relationship. I don't even want to type of the names of some these...like it would releasing bad mojo.

Anyway, I listened to the final Slate Culture Gabfest episode on my walk this morning. I can still remember where I was walking when I heard certain segments over the years. Today I thought about their discussion of Big Night in the early days of the pandemic, with a clear memory of turning onto Hensel Drive on hte final loop home.  

Sad to see it end and grateful all the years of content and conversation. 

I'll miss them.

Paperwork days...

2 July 2026: A couple of "paperwork days" have me feeling a bit caught up and crossing some big items off of my lists. I still feel behind, especially with course prep, but day like these (and a heatwave keeping me inside by late morning) are helping with that. 

Strange summer, to put it mildly, but anything I can do now to stay on task or even get ahead will be such a relief...

"All I Want"

1 July 2026: I've always really liked this one and get swept away by that last reprise of the chorus, wrapped around new lines:

"And it feels so close (All I want is to feel this way)

Let it take me in (Be this close, feel the same)

Let it hold me so (All I want is to feel this way)

I can feel it say (Evening speaks, feel it say)"

90s nostalgia, for better or worse, hitting me really hard these days.