late in february snow

It is still February, and we are being blanketed with more snow than I’ve seen in my six and a half years here. Admittedly, I said out loud yesterday that I was tired of winter and ready to shed my heaviest jacket and spiffy new red hat.

Woke up this morning to inches of snow and a wind that brings our temperature of 26 to zero. More of winter than I’ve ever seen here. Nostalgically, at least before the dig-out begins, my mind goes to Madison, especially that first winter of 2007, when David’s newly found heart condition left me in charge of snow removal, and I couldn’t quite fathom how fast and often snow could fall and accumulate. But there were often moments of sitting by the fireplace in the living room, watching the creation of a wonderland of the weather outside. The challenge of the eventual clean-up competing with wonder and awe.

 A snow plow just came up the street, pushing a huge scoop of snow. I’m beginning to hear about tomorrow’s cancellations. HILR may pivot to Zoom for all classes, a small, almost happy remnant of Covid days. Resilient, to be sure. And this is not a play-outside-in-the-snow day. Cheshire reminds me that children were supposed to be going back to school after winter break.  Pity the parents.

The windows are speckled with drops of ice that were liquid when I first woke up. Looking out the window is like trying to see out of an abstract lace curtain. Snow is blown onto the corners of the windows. Trees and bushes and power lines sway much more than usual in the wind. The sky is the recognizable gray of a winter storm.

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traveling companions, pt.1

Breakfast in Hanoi 2023

We are booked to return to Hanoi for more than a month in late spring. Airline tickets are bought. A deposit has been paid on the apartment we stayed in back in 2023. The official purpose of the trip is to attend the high school graduation of Giau, the son of the young woman Ed has guided since she was a teenager. It is sweet to be invited back for this moment, to witness a milestone in a family whose lives have been woven into Ed’s life over time and now into Julia’s and mine.

This time, planning feels different. With a place to stay arranged and a beloved pho shop just a stone’s throw away, I can already envision some of the more intriguing details.

One of the things I would like to arrange is a companion or guide for Julia while we are in Hanoi. I briefly flirted with this idea on our last trip, but became overwhelmed by the logistics and let it go. This time, I am sending out feelers and following up on any small clue that might lead somewhere. The hope is modest and specific: that Julia might spend a morning, an afternoon, or even a day exploring the city without me. Maybe a museum, a park, or a place to do art or crafts. Not every day. Just sometimes.

Independence is complicated to teach, and travel has always been one of the most meaningful ways Julia develops those skills. Since she is now 25, I would love for her to have opportunities to move through the world with a little more autonomy, even while far from home.

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just a bit of musing

Emerging from a week of a cold. Kinda, sorta awful, but nowhere near as bad as last January with RSV.  I’ve coughed and had swollen—or what feels like swollen—sinuses. A quick nurse video visit with advice, no cure last week right after my birthday weekend. Not wanting to get any sicker than I was, not wanting to feel worse than yesterday’s death, I made a morning and evening list of mostly non-negotiable tasks which I have been following.

And yes, very slowly, or so it seems, getting better. 

Still coughing and exhausted.  I have exactly a week before the HILR spring semester and I am aiming for full, or almost full, recovery by then.  

The gym and physical activity are suffering right now, but I am taking the fact that I am missing physical activity as a good sign of recovery. No way was I thinking about exercise last week.  

The cold—the weather cold— feels very oppressive.  Gentle walking feeling impossible and that will last longer than a week.

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looking back at birthday weekends

Julia and I have birthdays a week apart. We have celebrated separately and together, had parties, and just stayed home.  It is January and cold. This year we’ve been out and about for both weekends.

We, our trio, spent Julia’s weekend in New York City. Friday evening to Monday morning.  We saw two plays.  “And Juliet,” a musical, is a wild romp. Lots of fun, old pop music that most of the audience knew by heart. Everyone sang, including Julia, who followed some of the audience and got up to dance a few of the tunes. The cast is splendid, and the script is very clever. Fireworks and confetti were the icing on the cake.

On Sunday, we saw “Liberation.” A memory play about a young woman of today confronting her deceased mother’s 70’s conscience-raising group. A seven-woman cast with a strong script. The nude scene at the beginning of Act 2 was only slightly shocking. Five minutes into the scene, having no clothes on was simply the costume that the characters wore. It was a pleasure to be in the theater that night. Unfortunately, the play is set to close on February 1.

On Saturday, we saw “All that’s left of you,” a new film set in the Occupied West Bank, tracing the life of one family from 1948 to the present. It is a small, quiet movie, emotional, and heartbreaking. With only a limited release, it will be hard to find but totally worth pursuing.  

Also, on Saturday, we did one of the tours at the Tenement Museum.  Julia and Ed had never been there. I was there a long time ago. We did the 1902 Women’s Tour that featured a story about the Kosher Meat Boycott of 1902, organized and led by the neighborhood’s women. It was as good as I expected it to be. We all would like to return for another tour. Julia wants to see a Chinese immigrant story from the 1980’s next time. The 80’s just doesn’t sound like history to this old lady! To Julia, ancient history.

Besides all that, we saw friends for Friday evening dinner and ate Korean and Mexican food, but missed the street of Indian food in Jersey City that our hotel was close to. I guess we will have to go back. We stayed in Jersey City and used the Path Train. The rain/snow mix was icky to walk around in, and so, we didn’t do much strolling around. However, the mix was so much better than just plain cold rain, about which I reminded everyone every few hours.

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my word of the year

Yesterday, all I wrote was the date and then something or someone called me away. I have been busy since the year’s beginning. I don’t want to list all the important tasks that came my way, but, but, but…

Yesterday was my birthday and, as a friend described it, my personal New Year.  I owe myself some recognition, some noting, and some planning for the new year.  That planning has, in some years in the past, been a list of resolutions. There was at least one companion who disapproved of the making of resolutions which seemed to them to be limiting in scope and bound to fail. (I’ve probably written about this somewhere but not going to check now.) I have found resolutions to be maps, suggestions, reminders, and the making of them to be a good time of reflection and quiet resolve.

At least one of the resolutions, learning to live with dualities, was on my resolution list for years, seemed to grow my soul into understanding and acceptance. I had no idea of how to do that growing but my insistence that it remain on the resolution list reminded me of its importance until one day, I had that a-ha moment of recognizing how and what I was doing.

My goodness, I fear that makes little sense, but I don’t want to stop and add examples.

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always through, no matter what

A boy bringing in the new year.

“Get your shoes on. It’s time.”

Four days after Christmas, a few more days after Solstice, and one less than a few days after Chanukah. There is still New Year’s to look forward to or dread, but we are still in that breathing time amidst all these holidays. These are always days that I don’t expect to do or accomplish much. Not that these days are just for rest but for playing with paints or starting a 1000-piece puzzle or clearing that little pile of things with no place they belong on the kitchen counter or piling a whole bunch of papers from all over the house onto the in-box on my desk to be sorted at some unspecified future time. Nothing is resolved, but small movements towards big steps are being taken.

Yes, it has been like that these last few days.

Julia went to her day center last Friday. Ed and I went to the gym and then spent the afternoon on our laptops, reading, writing, and planning a weekend in NYC to see a friend’s play and to celebrate Julia’s 25th birthday. It will be cold—we remind each other a few times, thinking about where we will stay and how we’ll feel about public transport in the middle of January. And walking.

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those thousand-mile journeys

The picture is of the window ledge over my kitchen sink. It is, for the most part, my plant hospital for plants that are not faring well and need special attention. Most of those plants heal, start thriving, and get put in the living room that gets attention but not daily and more light. But what I wanted to write about is the parable I see in the two paper white bulbs growing in water that are close to the window in the back of the photo.

I love paper white narcissus for the winter holidays, although many years I start them too late or forget to find/order some at all. This year I remembered and may have a few blooms by New Year’s.

These two healthy bulbs were ordered from my favorite bulb distributor and put in water on the same day. The bulb on the left took off like gangbusters. I think it was in water less than two full days when tiny roots appeared, the greens followed quickly, and a tiny bud has formed. The bulb on the left was the opposite. It has taken a few weeks for any roots to appear. They are short, and there are few of them. The greens have hardly begun. 

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the work

The work of Christmas.

Some of choir is singing for both services and if Julia didn’t have to sit through both services, plus the early call for rehearsal, I’d sing both. There is a song in the second service—Sing we now of Christmas—that is evocative of the dark night and the quiet before celebration. I was happy to do it at choir practice.

A new choir song that we are learning for Christmas Eve.  There are two services that night.  7 and 10, or 10:30. This is the only time of year when we are in the church at night.  The stained glass windows are dark from the inside, no color except from the outside. I don’t notice the stained glass windows that often, but when they are dark. I see them clearly. 

The Work of Christmas is a song, according to our director, that Everyone is singing. The message of the song is that the work of Christmas begins after the tinsel is off the tree and the shepherds are back tending their sheep. It does seem like the perfect Christmas song in this year of tumult and chaos.  A time when we have so much work to do when these holidays are finished.

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morning after

Veterans’ Day: The end of World War I, called the Great War before the next war. This national holiday sees the fewest people off from work—that is the way that we count holidays, right?  I have an oral surgeon appointment this morning, Ed has a doctor’s appointment, Julia’s day center is open, I don’t have my HILR class, Julia has no rowing, and parking is free in Boston today. If there was ever a time to observe and ponder the end of a “great war,” it is today. My very deep hope is that we are not headed straight into another war that the Washington fascists are putting into place. 

Generally, I don’t agree with the most progressive of conservatives, but I would never agree to silence them forever, to ensure that a Republican politician never wins again. I thought that was part of the rules we play by. And yet, that is what this administration is saying—they are going to fix it so no Democrat can ever win again. This is not inference or subtext or even something overheard at a secret meeting. They say it loud and clear for every one of their minions to hear. And they are knee-deep in a dozen conflicts that they are making up as they go along—Orwell had nothing on these guys, these white guys and their lifted and painted white ladies.

Today was a quiet morning.  Perhaps that is why I can give over a few brain cells to a political rant. It is the calm after the storm.

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on one hand, the other hand, and something else

A week, not quite, most of a week of forced quiet. I took last Wednesday off feeling the beginnings of something like being sick. I missed a Shakespeare class at Harvard and a choir rehearsal in the evening.  I slept a good deal of the day, wrote emails, figured out a new drug insurance for myself and checked on Julia’s, and started the book club book for this month. And was quiet.

I stayed home on Thursday, not going to see Cheshire and the boys.  Honestly, if it were not for the drive —a good 45 minutes to an hour and always in traffic— I would have gone for a short time. I was on the cusp of feeling better but not completely there.

Writing this, I realize that my RSV bout in January is influencing my behavior. I am slightly fearful of the good health that I have enjoyed.  Last January showed me that I could get sick. Good and sick.

And so, I stayed home to take care of myself, again being quiet for the day, catching up on small tasks that have slipped through a life with cracks and working on housing for Julia. 

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