"Three weeks down" check-in...

30 January 2022: About to begin Week Four of the semester. So far, it's been quiet but going well enough on the work front, anyway. Classes are great--as always, the best part of my job and one of the best parts of my life. The Assistant Dean stuff is interesting and I think I am doing a pretty good job so far. On the book front, I've gone three for three in crossing every item off my weekly list of book-work goals. Wrote about 500 words today, too, and outlined the Hospital Sketches entry. Feeling pretty good about the organizing idea I came up with for it, too. (I am trying to give each one a thesis of sorts.) 

It is, for lack of a better phrase, a major bummer that the social highlights of my life right now are limited to (admittedly very fun!) women's basketball games. The weekends are marked by a kind of restless and sad energy made worse, of course, by the winter weather. Doing little things to push through but really holding on for spring. 

"Not to keep, but to keep watch..."

29 January 2022: Finished Lost & Found today, on a brutally cold walk through my neighborhood. It would, of course, be too much to ask a book to fix this mixture of despair, wonder, and a kind of longing that has been haunting me on and off. But the book gives clarity. And Schultz reveals the beauty and wonder at the heart of grief and loss. So we push on and endure. What else can we do? Doing that with a greater sense of connection and something like purpose?  What a gift of a book for helping us do that even a bit more. 

"testify"

28 January 2022: 

Eve L. Ewing's beautiful "testify," today's Poem-of-the-Day selection, is one that I needed to read (and hear--listen to the poet read it!) today. 

"a voice, a chorus, here to tell

you that we are not dead

we are not dead we are not

dead we are not dead we are

not dead we are not dead 

we are not dead we are not

dead 

yet"

"...weep even at our victories even?"

27 January 2022: "What can one do but read the news and weep at our victories even?" --Bronson Alcott, in a letter to a friend in September 1862, not long after Antietam. 

Reading through John Matteson's Eden's Outcasts, about Bronson and Louisa May Alcott, this afternoon and feeling very connected to this insight from old Bronson. 

More on Lost & Found

26 January 2022: Got to the "Found" section of Lost & Found, which is about the author finding her partner. ("Lost" is about losing her father...) So far, it is equally beautiful to the first part. I find myself on the verge of tears listening to it still. It's that kind of week, though.

Lost & Found

25 January 2022: "In the end, this may why certain losses are so shocking: not because they defy reality but because they reveal it..." -Kathryn Schulz, Lost & Found, discussing the Malaysian Airlines Flight 370 as an example of something seemingly huge disappearing. "A Boeing 777 may seem large compared to us," she writes, "but you could comfortably fit 180 billion of them on the bottom of the Indian Ocean."

I started listening to Schulz's book on my walk this morning, feeling a bit of trepidation about taking on a book about loss at this time. But my goodness, I am in love with it at about 90 minutes in. The bit above almost stopped me in my tracks. And while the first section is indeed about loss and looks at it rather unblinkingly, it isn't maudlin or even particularly depressing. It's actually beautiful. 

Partial credit?

24 January 2022: "Would you accept 'a shoe stepping on a lizard?'" --one of my students today, trying to get partial quiz credit for a quiz question about Montresor's coat of arms in "The Cask of Amontillado."

Why is that so funny? Sometimes it's hard to say why, but we laughed ourselves silly for a bit. And a good class overall. 

When my mind is on other things, the two hours in the classroom today were just the sweetest and best. Also helping: the women's basketball game this evening. (They won.)

Aristotle and Dante Dive into the Waters of the World

23 January 2022: Finished this book today, despite starting it back in October. This delay is no reflection on the book, which is lovely and gentle. It reads like "fan service," but not in a bad way. Sáenz gets to the topics you'd expect him to get to if you read the first book: the AIDS crisis, Ari's brother, senior year, etc.  While I could see the big twist coming early on (from the blurb on the back) and seeing it coming cast a pall over the book from the start, Sáenz's choices still surprised me in good ways. 

The book focuses more on friendship than I thought it would, which is a good thing, too. It felt right to see Ari branch out and build meaningful relationships beyond his parents and Dante. I keep thinking about his friendship with Cassandra, a new character. It is intense and deep and meaningful. They get each other, see each other...change each other's lives. As I think about my dear friend and her health crisis, I realize how much she is my own Cassandra. 

"My help comes from the Lord..."

22 January 2022: "I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth." Psalm 121:1-2

Sad, anxious, and weary heart today, after hearing bad news from my very dear friend. Trying to focus on peace and hope. Sending her love from afar. 

People who shape you...

21 January 2022: I am praying and praying for one of my dearest friends tonight who is going through a medical crisis. I can't say more right now. But it has me thinking about how important she has been in my life and how she has helped shape who I am (for the better). How many of the best parts of my life are attached to her. It's a humbling, lovely, and blessed set of ideas to reflect on, though I wish this deep fear hadn't inspired it. 

"Neon Moon"

20 January 2022: "Everyone is just enjoying the song and each other. The big silver disco ball hanging from the middle of the ceiling is sending magic glints over all of them, and Joel feels like they’re part of the night sky. The woman is singing There’s always room here for the lonely over a pedal steel and a synthesizer, and his feet are moving right in time." --Silas House, "Neon Moon"

I've been a fan of that old Brooks and Dunn song for a long time--its yearning, its melancholic beauty. So I knew I had to read Silas House's story. I actually read it last night, but it's been on my mind all day, aided by me listening to the playlist he posted to accompany it. The way he uses the Kacey Musgraves cover is just so smart and subtle: it's the same song, a couple decades later, with a different singer and a different beat. It's like the character of Fox, not a copy of his great-uncle, but a kind of echo that makes the original its own. And that song brings them together on the dance floor. Amazing. 

Poe cakes!

19 January 2022: My job is pretty sweet every day, but some days that works on multiple levels. One of my students make these two beautiful and delicious cakes to mark Poe's birthday today.

Finding the "Prince of Patience"

18 January 2022: "Having no better information at their disposal, Alcott biographers (the author of this article included) have gamely reiterated Alcott’s errors, and the trail leading to the real John has remained disappointingly cold. But now, at long last, the mystery is solved." -John Matteson, "Finding Private Suhre: On the Trail of Louisa May Alcott's 'Prince of Patients'"

I am not kidding: I said, "Ohhh!" out loud when I read the sentences above. And the article itself is a heck of a read, as Matteson find the real identity of "John" from Hospital Sketches, complete with mentions of Hagerstown, Sharpsburg, and even Shepherdstown. I probably won't use this piece in my entry on the book, but it was a lot of fun to read (and kind of moving, too).

Work Cited

Matteson, John. "Finding Private Suhre: On the Trail of Louisa May Alcott's 'Prince of Patients.'" The New England Quarterly, vol. 88, no. 1, March 2015, pp. 104-125. JSTOR.

Basketball and Station Eleven

17 January 2022: As I write this, I'm watching the women's basketball game online as they take on Millersville. I've got a lot on my mind, though today is better than yesterday. I slept in a bit, dug out the driveway (which was kind of bear--not a lot of snow, but wet, heavy, and a sheet of thick ice on top), watched some TV, took a walk, did some work. This post is just about the last item on my to-do list for the day. So, not a bad day.

I guess right now I am thinking about the TV I watched--episodes of Station Eleven. I also listened to a bunch of episodes from their official podcast, where they talk about, among other things, making a show about a pandemic during a pandemic. It's a beautiful show and I find it filling my head and my heart.

But back to the basketball game--with a connection to Station Eleven and that podcast. The showrunner, a director, and the other host were talking about the sometimes-tired "aren't we better without this technology?" debate. And the showrunner said, essentially (complete paraphrase), "It's not about the tech. It's about how we use it. And it has helped us through this pandemic so far." On a day that feels better than yesterday even though I've been just as alone, when I am watching my favorite team play in PA while I am sitting in WV, when texts from good friends have raised my spirits, and when the internet just continues to wow me with smart writing, that assertion feels really true and important to me. 

A May Moment...

16 January 2022: Weird day here. Went to campus early to get some work done there because I wanted to get out of the house (and back) before the impending storm. Got some decent work done and finished my weekly "Book Work To-Do List," a completely discrete weekly list (only book stuff!) that I started this semester. Washed the blackboards in the classrooms, too, for the first time what has to have been a year or more. Took a long, cold walk around town. Headed home. All of that felt good and satisfying. 

The snow started a bit after 2:00. It's pretty, but I guess. And there won't be too much. And tomorrow's a holiday, so the schedule won't be disturbed. These are all good things. Watched some TV, did some reading. Puttered around. Felt okay. Felt bad. Lather, rinse, repeat. Sunday blues, COVID-winter-style. 

It's cold and dark and I miss the sun and people and normal, which seems so distant. 

I think this every time the weather is extreme--standing outside in the blazing heat or in a foot of snow: "It is hard to believe that it can ever be cold enough to snow a foot" or "It's hard to believe it will ever be summer again..." One spot. One moment. And just six months later, it can be so different. 

Maybe that's why I've been thinking about this video on and off all day. May 27, 2021: not that long ago, but even then, I knew it was, as I wrote, a "Moment." So much feels different and worse right now. (I want to be clear that I mostly mean right now, because I know my emotions are mercurial.) It's cold and dark and gloomy. The windows and doors are closed, though drafty. Bing is gone and that still hurts so much. Wes is still here and sweet and such a blessing, but he's blind and clingy and there's a tinge of desperation to him so often. Veronica is lonely and doesn't understand he can't see her, so he hisses at her when she scares him. Omicron is raging and I have spent this weekend pretty damn alone. Was supposed to volunteer for an MLK Day of Service tomorrow, but COVID and snow put a stop to that. 

May seems so far away. Look at these posts from then. It's actually kind of stunning: first movies back in the theater, first trip to NY in over a year, happy hours and meals with friends, masks coming off, spring flowers in the ground. Hope and life and light.  

I know that I am stewing and wallowing. Trying to switch my brain to gratitude mode or at least distracted mode. And I've got an 8:00 video chat with my RC girls (and Mike), so that will help. But I miss May.