WRITING & REVERIE

Hello from my living room where, today at least, I am in desperate need of a map for this adult life, friends. I offer a little preview of what’s to come this week, and a sharing of one of my favorite memoirs, by Meredith Hall, that I think beautifully reveals in a roundabout way what it means to live a mindful life, not as we conventionally define it, but as I hope to reimagine it in my piece for you all later this week. It has much to do with remembering, reunion and self-discovery....

It is hard to deny that a light of learning has been, if not snuffed out, then seriously dimmed in young people as a result of Covid and its drastic interruption to their education and social-emotional development. This was apparent to me on my first day back to teaching, but I have felt it more deeply these last few weeks, as students seem to be struggling to get by, to stay engaged, to know what to do, and to simply show up. The other day, while leading a discussion on late-stage capitalism and black women in the family, I looked around and noticed a room full of people who seemed largely adrift, exhausted and, if I am being totally honest, simply unwell....

Here’s a little hello from me to you on this beautiful Sunday morning, and a reminder to sign up for my weekly newsletter, Bushes Afire. A new piece comes out every Wednesday. This week is all about what it’s like returning to the university classroom in a post-Covid world, and what the pandemic seems to have meant for students, teachers and learning communities....

I don’t know how to talk to people who would count an embryo as a person. If I had no need of it, I would just as soon scrape it off my cutting board along with the red pepper innards and cucumber skins that no one wants. I’m grateful my vegetables don’t need to be stored at -325 degrees Fahrenheit to stay fresh, nor have either one of my children, human creatures that they are....

Happy Sunday evening, friends. I am writing this from a bit of a sick bed, which happens to be a favorite if infrequently visited place of mine. My beloved has tucked me away with our cat, dog and a pile of books, and placed a cup of tea in my favorite bird tea cup next to me. (If you know me, then you know how unwell I must be, if I am drinking tea instead of my usual cup of mud with a little sweetened condensed milk.) This is my happiest place....

My father’s last three words to me were, I hate you. It took such effort. He strained mightily to spit the words out, just before his large hands shoved me back into the chair on which I had been perched for what seemed like forever but was only the beginning. His eyes flew open, widened and looked straight into mine as he said it....

One had a lovely face,
And two or three had charm,
But charm and face were in vain
Because the mountain grass
Cannot but keep the form
Where the mountain hare has lain.
And for all of you poetry lovers, here is a beautiful recording of W.H. Auden reading his poem for Yeats, titled In Memory of W.B. Yeats. Give it a listen, it is so lovely....

I care about my child’s gender about as much as I care about the Super Bowl, which is to say, not in the least. It isn’t some kind of feminist political posture, more of a genuine lack of interest. In fact, my feelings about the NFL and the Super Bowl, and how appallingly awful both are for players and spectators alike, are far more strident than anything I have ever felt about how my kid dresses or whether you can tell if Olive is a boy or a girl....

Some years ago in graduate school, one of my dearest and smartest friends, Melissa Peterman, gave me a beautiful gift, The Complete Poems of Anne Sexton (see photos below of the book and her lovely inscription, which I cherish). I have been sitting here at my writing desk reading from it this morning, and was reminded of one of my favorite of her poems, Welcome Morning....

Hello, Friends! This is a short and sweet hello to welcome you to my new project of writing and reverie. I will publish one essay a week here on Substack for you, my lovely readers and writerly folk, to elevate and uplift, to offer clarity and honesty in a time of darkness. Like a lot of writers, I write as a way to know what I think. My intention, as always, is to begin with something I know (or don’t) of my own little world in order to say something meaningful about the life we live together. I will share a new piece of writing here every Wednesday, and you’ll also get a newsletter in your inbox....

Other Work