"“You have to act as if it were possible to radically transform the world. And you have to do it all the time.”

Angela Davis, whose birthday it is today, says we have to "act as if it were possible to radically transform the world. And you have to do it all the time.” I'm ready.

It helps that so many others are doing great things. Amy Siskind has made a list of early pushback in the first week:

* 22 state attorneys general sue over birthright order. * Reagan appointed federal judge pauses birthright order, says it's unconstitutional. * GOP Sen. Mitch McConnell criticized Trump for pardoning Jan. 6 insurrectionists who assaulted law enforcement * Alaska GOP Sens. Murkowski and Sullivan criticize Trump for renaming Denali after McKinley who never stepped foot in their state *GOP Mike Rounds questions why Pompeo's security protection was taken away * GOP Shelly Caputo asks for clarification on disbursing funds from Biden-era IRA, which goes to builds road, bridges, etc in her state * ACLU sues the Trump regime to block expansion of "fast track" deportations. * DOGE is falling apart - Ramaswamy departs, and today Trump appointed DOGE counsel says he is leaving too * Sen. Warren and Rep. Jack Auchincloss calls for an investigation of Trump and Melania's digital coins * cryptocurrency players criticize them too, call Trump's moves "gritty and greedy" and of course heroine *Bishop Mariann Edgar Buddy calling out their misuse of the teachings Christianity to perpetrate cruelty.

Pic: From DeLisha Tapscott. I particularly love "Demand action that feeds your community's needs--not their agendas" and "Build connections that center joy and solidarity." Love.

somehow tomorrow (will be the twentieth anniversary of our first date)

I would believe anything 
that started with you

I--still--do  

sure as any day climbing 

for hours then coasting 

down, on time

inside the churn of memory

time is a secret waterfall 

of it all

the soft singing at breakfasts

battles opening voices

love closing eyes 

oh, how we've danced our way 

for twenty unwritten years 

now going away

with the magic suddenness of deer 

whose hoofprints are filling 

with blowing snow

_____________________

Pic: I moved to the living room as Nu has a sleepover in the rumpus room, but Max found me for our evening cuddle. 

I'm a breathless miracle

I've been describing this week as breathless. Even so,  not only am I not caught up, I'm behind on rec letters, editing tasks, household chores, emails, phone calls, and even texts. 

I guess the weekend is for catching up now.

And perhaps next week will be more reasonably paced.

Some of the breathlessness is sometimes literal as in an incipient anxiety attack. And that's not surprising given the onslaught of attacks from on high trying to erase every progressive win of the last fifty years. I want to push back with something bold and expansive, like the Black Panther Party's 10-point program, instead of simply reacting to what is being taken away. 

And also, I got LV into my favorite form of "distractification"--we're planning a post-Valentine's potluck in Feb together. Instead of agonizing over the latest developments, our recent texts have been about guest lists and menus instead. So when LV, who is an art prof, suggested we make "milagros" I thought it was a cocktail. But then he started talking about how miraculous it was and...  I mean... I like cocktails, but I thought calling one a miracle was a bit much. It turns out they are little symbolic votives--we're going to do a craft! 

Pic: That's not a pond, it's the river--and it's still frozen. I saw people walking across it late this evening.

small bridges

the world is burning      the stars are burning

                    how can we tell 

between catastrophe          and astral beauty 

                 it is no way to live

in my mother's eyes      there was always

                a waiting, waiting

and sometimes            she was more dead 

              than she feared I was

inside night's shadow         a solid darkness

               a series of searching
in impulsive skies     and a patient earth

                    or vice versa 

in drifts of memory       and burning snow 

               grainy as television 

I am important               I am impatient               

                find hope untidy

but keep it rooted        and learn to grow it

                    hearty although 

still watermarked         by tears and time

_______________

Pic: The puddle of napping puppies around my feet... I love how their paws are all entwined. (Max's head is off camera as he's flopped off the edge of the couch. The red haze is from the red and blue lights Nu likes to have on in the rumpus room.)

"Do something every day. That can be something small"

This reminder from Gabriel Valdez was immensely helpful to me today. I wish it were published somewhere, but it isn't, so I'm saving it here.

"Part of the feeling of helplessness right now is this idea that you don't know some big thing you can do. But why would you expect that from yourself? Do something every day. That can be something small - a call to an elected official, getting a friend to call an elected official for the first time. It can be getting in touch with a local charity or volunteer organization. It can be reaching out to someone you know is already doing work and seeing what they might need, in that work or as an ear to listen so that they can go back to that work refreshed.

I want to stress this: These are all things you know how to do. These are all easy things. Remarkably easy things. Do one every day.

Your job right now is not to do the big shit that changes things. A stone is not a mountain on its own. Your job is to do something small but measurable every day that ensures you are not the one being moved off your norms, that ensures you are connecting to community around you.

And yes kindness and yes hope, but god damn it, you don't wait for those things, you make them. A job to be done still needs to be done, regardless of the measurement of your hope. You feel hopeful. Make a call. Reach out. You don't feel hopeful. Make a call. Reach out.

Hope is not produced in a fugue state. Hope is not produced by thinking about producing hope. Hope is the result of action, small, large, doesn't matter. Just matters that you do it.

Kindness is not the result of feeling kind, it is the result of what you do that is kind. Do something kind. Do something hopeful. And then you will be kind and hopeful. That's how it works; it's the only way it works.

You can't identify what needs to be done next if you aren't doing the simple things that can be done now. None of us is in a state to feel we're ready. OK. What's that matter? If you're packing for a trip, you aren't magically ready. You put shit in a suitcase first. If you run a marathon, you aren't magically ready. You train, starting with the small stuff. None of us is ready, but we understand readiness in every other facet of life as the small steps that get us there.

Readiness requires doing the things directly in front of you that get you ready. That's the job of the moment. Do it, or you won't be ready for whatever the hell the job of the next moment is, and that's going to feel a lot shittier than anything we're feeling now.

Things need to be done. Many of them are easy. Do one every day."

__________________________

Pic: This herd of deer was my welcome committee when I got home today. I don't know what was so delicious right there on the driveway, but they didn't want to move. I get no respect. 

"life is never just one thing"

I didn't see Big A at all today. He'd worked an overnight in Ann Arbor and I left for work an hour before dawn to make it to an 8 am meeting. By the time I got home after a late evening at work, he'd already left for work again. 

But to quote Connie Schultz, "Life is never just one thing;" other than that, it was a lovely day. 

We inducted new members to the English honorary and it's always such a delight to see students dressed up for the occasion and meet their families. I mean... you think you see your students grow in the classroom and love their work and the people they are and then you meet their families and it's a whole new level of understanding how much they're cherished, seeing the wonder their grownups have about these humans they have made in one way or another. It's kind of transcendent. 

Also, somehow I was going to place an order with the catering company and then decided to do it myself and found myself after classes at MacCurdy (the feminist house I advise) borrowing their oven to heat up trays of hors d'oeuvres. And also, I have the best colleagues... ok, the best women colleagues--who seamlessly did everything from setup to clear-up. The whole evening was busy and bright and social and fun--all the stuff I adore. 

And then when I came home I was so tired I couldn't even bear the sound of the loud TV show Nu (who had no school today and has no school tomorrow because of our frigid temps) had on. I just wanted to sit with my arms around my babies for while. Then Nu went to bed, I FaceTimed my sister for her birthday (it's already her birthday in India!), and then snuggled up to read with Max and Huck.

Pic: This treat of lovely words and signature shortbread was waiting for me after my first class today. I did work hard today, but this wasn't about that. It's from a lovely and private colleague in another department and says way more about their wonderfulness than anything it might imply about me.

"practice the art of resilience"

Many things did not go according to plan today--I got behind on a couple of tasks, my massage therapist canceled, I broke one of my favorite dishes as I was readying dinner, I burnt two parathas and also my hand, I accidentally heard a few snippets of news about the inauguration, and was surprised and saddened by news that Cecile Richards had died (that's when I lost focus and burned my hand, actually)...

But the title of this article played in my head like a mantra: "With their lives upended, they practiced the art of resilience." It's a story about a new exhibition at the Smithsonian featuring the work of three Japanese-American artists, two of whom had been incarcerated in internment camps during World War II. One of them, Miné Okubo, later wrote the book Citizen 13660 about her life in the camps--Big A's grandfather, Harold, was instrumental in getting that book published as she notes in the introduction. 

We'd been talking about taking a trip to D.C. to see the exhibition yesterday because of this connection... But also, I'll take every reminder of people going through terrible times and making it out to the other side. 

Pic: Nu showing me which kid they resemble on one of our treasured Miné Okubos--She gave Big A's grandparents a few of her paintings as gifts over the years they stayed in touch.