Into the Wild Wood and Home Again

ahhh, Monday. You found me. Four below zero. Dark as a well. And I'm sure many of my students did not do the rough draft of their paper that is due today, even though they had more than two weeks.  Here we go again, right?  The news is catastrophic, chaotic, and hard to fathom. It's like watching a bad movie, or slogging your way through a novel written by someone who has clearly lost the plot, but will keep the disaster tropes in place.  And Meg's hot water heater, as they say, shat the bed.  This new year feels a little prickly so far. We didn't get the blessings written on the lintel yet (we did get the blessed chalk and the prayer at church yesterday), but I think we will today. I hope so. We need all the blessings we can get.  Well, the Patriots did win yesterday, rather handily, which was a nice thing. Unfortunately, it doesn't counter the news cycle all that much. Well, at all, really.  I hope your day is a good one. I'm going to try to keep my backs...

It is said in the Gospels that the magi were "warned in a dream...and took another way" (Mt 2:1-12). They found the Christ child, did him homage, but then, when it was time to depart, they were told that Herod was not to be trusted, and that their very lives were in danger.  Sometimes witnessing the truth --or in this case, the Truth-- is dangerous. We, too, live in dangerous and desperate times, when the telling of the truth can get a person in a lot of trouble with co-workers, family members, and even some government agents. This is nothing new, really: world history is filled with stories of despots and the courage of those who speak up for truth. But being a truth-teller, or even insisting on the truth, can come with consequences. So, it was pretty brave (and prudent) for the magi to take another route back to their own countries. Unfortunately, that left Herod unchallenged by those who were essentially his social equals.  There's the problem: those who abuse their po...

Saturday, ten degrees, and dark as the bottom of a well.  I've been trying to live inside a self-imposed bubble for a week, hoping to gain perspective and some rest. In part, this has worked, but the news feed leaks in. There is bombing in Caracas this morning, and I cannot fathom what this is going to bring to our doors, literally and figuratively. So many people living in fear, confusion, pain, and sorrow-- much of it manufactured by others who are greedy, amoral, and who wield a tremendous amount of financial and social power.  So many people who are struggling to make sense of things, to make their paychecks stretch, who are trying their level best to keep body and soul together.  It's hard to even try to care about anything less grave; I'd love to be all wound up about a football game, or some foolishness I overheard, or anything, really, that ranks pretty low on the "I should care" meter. The weight of the world, or rather, the associated weight of these hor...

Daanggg, it got cold last night. Far colder than predicted-- as I'm writing, it's 15 below zero. I figured it must be, since the house banged early this morning (it does that when it gets super cold--).  I am NOT leaving the house to do errands until it's over zero.  Today is an unexpected quiet stretch, at least until after lunch. Tim took today off, so Holly's home with him until later. Just as well, since it's stupid cold. Let her stay in her jammies at home, and not have to trudge across the snow and ice so early.  So, it's just Cece the Snoozy Dog and me, and I kind of want to crawl into the pellet stove. G got it cleaned early, so it'll run fine all day without any extra effort. I appreciate that.  Our quiet New Year's Day was nice; family time, a turkey dinner (and O, there are leftovers), and a little television last night. I should have gone to bed at the first signs of being sleepy, but I didn't, and thus, per usual, I fell asleep in my cha...

From Jane Hirshfield's poem, " Counting, this New Year's Morning, What Powers Yet Remain to Me " " The world asks, as it asks daily:  And what can you make, can you do, to change my deep-broken, fractured?...// Today, I woke without answer.  The day answers, unpockets a thought from a friend don’t despair of this falling world, not yet didn’t it give you the asking"  OK,  2026. What do you have in store?  T ake care, my friends. Be there for each other. Be there for yourself, as well. C C l                                                          

Thomas Hardy's " The Darkling Thrush" is much on my mind these days. It was first published on December 29, 1900, but a handwritten note on an earlier copy referred to 1899. The world was teetering on the edge of a lot of changes: the new century, the rise of rampant capitalism in the wake of the burgeoning Industrial Age, and the widening disparity between the very rich and the working poor. Even rumblings of the unrest that would lead to the first World War were becoming apparent. Sounds familiar. Several paradigm shifts threatened stability both on the wider scale and on the personal.  The poem is bleak, to be sure. The images call up a broken world, a black-and-white world, with a distinct chill in the air and in the heart and soul of the speaker. Such phrases as " The tangled bine-stems scored the sky/  Like strings of broken lyres" paint a picture that is bereft of hope.  I have been feeling this way for a while -- a lot of people have. It's hard to f...