Pongal Sonnet

I've come such a long way

... north  I   now  celebrate 

this  Pongal  in  the   snow 

all  of  us  have  journeys 

I   suppose, we're all  from 

somewhere else as we know

like daffodils, not even Hindu 

still, here they are, little suns

intimate on the offering plate 

with the shakarapongal where

they  relate a welcome  flight

through pressure, sludge, ice--  

bright in the salute and shatter 

of our  planet's  feral sunlight

___________________

Pic: Late evening Pongal offering with Nu, Huck and Max. I took a picture to share with At who couldn't make it to pooja... Huck is dancing! 

Bhogi today; Pongal tomorrow

Tomorrow is Pongal, the start of the auspicious Tamil month Thuy, and I always think of it as a handy reset for any lagging New Year resolutions. There's also actual Tamil New Year in April; lucky us. 

I'll have a long teaching day tomorrow, so I prepped some of the festival food today. This way I'll just have to make the sweet pongal for the pooja and the dosas for the celebration dinner. Today is Bhogi--traditionally, we're supposed to have a big bonfire to burn all the stuff we're discarding. As usual, I did the easier, sustainable thing and donated all the stuff we'd culled.

Pic: I really love my photo of cranes on the frozen Portage River about to take flight (from yesterday's hike).

(Also, I'm so chuffed that I seem to be made of some seriously tough stuff--while even Big A is sore and blistered after our longest hike to date, I'm business as usual. I did sleep so soundly yesterday though. If only I could numb my weltschmerz with five hours of physical exertion every day...)

another day of distractification

Big A and I spent over five hours on the Pinckney trails hiking and trudging though the snow trying to finish our 16-mile loop before sunset/the end of daylight. Also, I thought it was the full moon tonight and had just seen a trailer for a werewolf movie, so trust me when I say there was speed in my step. (The internet tells me that the full moon is actually tomorrow and it's called the wolf moon!)

It was an exciting, exhausting day. I tired myself out. I laid some fears and sorrows and anxieties to rest (for now). Tomorrow I plan to show up for the people who are counting on me. 

Pic: In the Pinckney Woods. "The woods are lovely, dark, and deep."

a day in Detroit

Big A made plans for us to spend the day in Detroit today. My only big decision was what I should wear to the restaurant that wouldn't be too dressy for the Detroit Pistons game. Clearly, I don't go to games very often. I needn't have worried... most people wore team merch, but there were fancier clothes and the real (literal) rockstars were wearing furs and showy jewelry. 

The Detroit Pistons were playing the Toronto Raptors, and because the wonderful Nicole is from Canada too, this seemed like a sign about the scheme I pitched her about visiting Detroit-MI-the Midwest.

I'm reading Long Bright River for one book club and The Frozen River for another and am preparing to get the two thoroughly confused because both titles have "river" in them. Anyway, I was describing Long Bright River to Big A on the way home, and I used the term "addicted" to describe a character. Ever the humanist (and a volunteer doc in Suboxone clinics), he gently reminded me to use people-first language. I'm learning. [Update: A recommends this guide.]

Pic: Waking up from a nap to Big A and Max looming over me. I know I tend to anthropomorphize our canine kids, but Max really does look so much like A here.

renewal and respair

you take my hand

hold my body like a prayer

in your hands

in your hands
your kind, capable hands

I arrive alive

_____________________

Pic: This came from Rebecca Solnit's feed, a good reminder of the steady work of respair. 

I'm so grateful for my family who are so good at putting me back together.

not normal

The images of devastation coming from the California fires (in Winter!) have been so hard to process. Homes, memories, histories... wiped out... just like that. I can't imagine. And yet, of course I've imagined it happening to me, to us, over here. It's not difficult. We're all just one disaster away. I'm holding space and grief for all the people, land, animals, plants, water, air, and atoms affected by what was preventable. 

Today has been hard. I turned in final grades for the online Gaza course. Of the eleven students who had registered for "Literature Survey 2," just two graduated. I lost touch with the remaining nine, and hadn't been able to get a response from them in months. I will never know what happened to them. I imagine the best. I imagine the worst.

Of the two who graduated, D, promised to stay in touch "God willing, as long as we are alive, to learn from you." The conditionality was chilling. F, turned in work late once and apologized explaining that there had been internet outages and that their tent had been bulldozed. It made me embarrassed to receive that email. 

None of this needs to be anyone's normal. 

Pic: via Praxis-Archives 
#RestInPowerAaronBushnell

scribbling women, dogs walking, dog-writing, and bitches

When I first watched Bridgerton, I was struck by this remarkable line:

LADY WHISTLEDOWN: "According to the much heralded poet Lord Byron: Of all bitches, dead or alive, a scribbling woman is the most canine."

And I meant to use it when I taught Women's Writing again (which is now). It is such a mash-up of Byron's famous misogyny, Hawthorne's hatred of "scribbling women" and Samuel Johnson's screed about women's composition--that it's like a "dog’s walking on his hind legs. It is not done well; but you are surprised to find it done at all.” 

Also, while I was looking for the precise quote, I went down some interesting theory rabbit holes. While I was aware of Animal Studies, I wasn't aware that there was a specialized field of "dog-writing" that studies the intense relationships of women writers with their dogs (Elizabeth Barrett-Browning, Virginia Woolf, and so on). (While I'm no Woolf or Barrett-Browning--in our family, Scout is known as my dissertation wolf and Max is my book puppy. I don't think I could have gone on without their steadfast attention, affection, and presence.) The word "bitch" crops up with increasing frequency in the titles of these works about dog-writing: "Bitch, Bitch, Bitch: Personal Criticism, Feminist Theory, and Dog-writing" or  Writing with the Bitches, etc. 

It feels like I've come full circle with the Bridgerton quote.

Pic: Snow falling in the "portal," which what L and I call this corridor of trees from her house to the street.