I will miss the cozy sssssssss of the radiators in a month or two, when they fade away. I will miss the steam on the storm windows and the pale daylight. Of course (of course) I will welcome the spring, throwing the windows open and putting on flouncy skirts and wandering outside on purpose. But for now I'm working on being thankful for right now, because I know I will miss it. These seasons slip by me so that no matter how alert I hold myself, waiting to detect the change, I always recognize it after the fact.
Today is the last day of February. I have been missing my grandma for two full months. Today is also the first day of my "spring break." Je vais etudier le francais, parce que je prendrai un(e?) examen ... soon. Is that future tense so wrong? Does one prendre an exam, or does one do something else to it?
Dear me.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
from Wallace Stevens' "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird"
xiii
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.
Monday, February 16, 2009
pace
We're back from Common Root '09, which was pretty fabulous. It brought together a lot of great people and fostered some really meaningful conversations (I especially appreciated the late-night talks and wonderful food provided by our hosts, who opened up their home to complete strangers). The 15 hours of driving over the weekend also gave Josh and me plenty of time to talk with each other.
I think the primary take-away lesson resonating with me is something I already knew but didn't fully accept: the pace of our life is untenable. For all our belief in simplicity, honest and meaningful conversation, hospitality, and a more contemplative lifestyle that allows enough time to think critically about the world as it is, we are very, very busy. To be fair, Josh and I are in an unusual phase of life with our schooling and commuting and his job, and we don't plan to be here forever. But this culture of frantic busyness is not something I want to build into my life, and I also think we need to make some hard decisions to be sure that this is only a short-term frantic pace. I was challenged in particular by Tom and Christine Sine to create rhythms in my life that are healthy and that provide ample time for real, robust celebration along with rest.
What are your rhythms, dear reader? Do you feel exceedingly busy? Frantic, even? Or is life pretty slow but without much substance? How do you think we can resist our culture's insistence on goinggoingoing?
I think the primary take-away lesson resonating with me is something I already knew but didn't fully accept: the pace of our life is untenable. For all our belief in simplicity, honest and meaningful conversation, hospitality, and a more contemplative lifestyle that allows enough time to think critically about the world as it is, we are very, very busy. To be fair, Josh and I are in an unusual phase of life with our schooling and commuting and his job, and we don't plan to be here forever. But this culture of frantic busyness is not something I want to build into my life, and I also think we need to make some hard decisions to be sure that this is only a short-term frantic pace. I was challenged in particular by Tom and Christine Sine to create rhythms in my life that are healthy and that provide ample time for real, robust celebration along with rest.
What are your rhythms, dear reader? Do you feel exceedingly busy? Frantic, even? Or is life pretty slow but without much substance? How do you think we can resist our culture's insistence on goinggoingoing?
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
i love this blog
habit is one of the most beautiful home-grown blog projects i've seen in a while. Its spare aesthetic makes poetry from juxtaposed snippets of daily life and reminds me to look for the scraps of loveliness in my own normal moments.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
good morning
I am writing with a blue pen that used to belong to my grandma and aching with every stroke of ink. My fingerprints are overtaking hers on the plastic barrel; my grad school jottings are teaching the tip a new rhythm; my straight-up-and-down hybrid handwriting is encouraging the pen to forget her proper slanted script. And this is the lesson: we must carry on with our tasks and our days, aching as we go.
Grief like this is new to me. But yesterday held moments of kindness--surprise hugs from friends, and running into another at a cold bus stop, and being welcomed and bid farewell by the bus driver with the words, "Well, young lady." Also: breakfast for dinner, the return of familiar and exciting ideas, and flannel sheets.
And today holds moments to anticipate: a promising interdisciplinary discussion this afternoon; coffee; poetry; and a quiet evening with the bleary-eyed Josh, conqueror of yet another all-nighter. Plus sunshine and cold that bites one's nose.
These are the bits of good that join to make a real and full day, even when the day is underpinned by sorrow. And I suppose this is the human experience: we live in between the two.
Grief like this is new to me. But yesterday held moments of kindness--surprise hugs from friends, and running into another at a cold bus stop, and being welcomed and bid farewell by the bus driver with the words, "Well, young lady." Also: breakfast for dinner, the return of familiar and exciting ideas, and flannel sheets.
And today holds moments to anticipate: a promising interdisciplinary discussion this afternoon; coffee; poetry; and a quiet evening with the bleary-eyed Josh, conqueror of yet another all-nighter. Plus sunshine and cold that bites one's nose.
These are the bits of good that join to make a real and full day, even when the day is underpinned by sorrow. And I suppose this is the human experience: we live in between the two.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
