432

After a few months away, I have returned to the fold of weekly yoga, and I am grateful. This morning's session has the world burning a little brighter, my body much slower and more deliberate, my mind more centered.

Next week is spring break: I have no exotic plans, but I do hope to go up north to visit my oldest and dearest friend Kelly, whose husband is a long-haul trucker and whose nineteen-month-old son is leading her to practicing single parenting. I'm hoping I can give her a little relief; perhaps she can run errands or go out, have an adult conversation in the evening that has nothing to do with the frustrations she faces in her managerial position. I wish we lived closer so I could be a pinch-hitter, pick him up from daycare at least, but alas, our geography and schedules prevent it.

Other tidbits about spring break: Ryan is turning thirty-one. We're both thirty now, and I have to admit, I'm loving this age. I feel more grounded.

Last night, as we were falling asleep, Zephyr began his Iseesomething!Iseesomething! barking, and I whispered to Ryan, "Do you think he ever gets hoarse?" "No, he's a dog." "Maybe he'll go cow instead." Gatsby, who I've nicknamed Ryan's nemesis, began purring between us; clearly he enjoys our evening banter as well.

431: natural curiosity

Being outside has been so amazingly therapeutic for me, grappling with my body, mourning the loss of young life, battling cabin fever. It's these up-close glimpses I love the most, seeing the early buds after a string of forty-degree days, examining the weft and wane of tree bark.

If you click on the image to enlarge this photo, you can see such very-small fungal growths, five circles nearly dead-center.


I tried to look up what it might be, but found nothing.


And this. Ryan and I wondered what might be living in this little burrow--what could cause such a dirt storm? Last night I dreamed we saw two brown bears, but I wasn't quick enough with my camera to later prove it. We'd certainly know if bears were wandering in our parts, and this is much too small for anything of the sort, though I love my chaotic dreamscape touched on this moment in the woods.

430: a good afternoon

We took the dogs up Memorial Bluff this weekend.

Zephyr, in true bowling ball fashion, slammed into me as I was taking photographs of him and Penelope running with a stick. Somehow I didn't fall; I think it was the yak tracks. When I recovered, I looked at him, and he was happily panting away, the biggest dumb grin on his face. Silly boy and his gracelessness. He gets that from me, you know.

429: seeing carolyn again

There are many good things in life, and last night, I experienced a few: dinner at a new restaurant with friends, time at a poetry reading, seeing a beloved instructor and mentor, introducing that instructor to a dear friend who loves her work.

Thanks, Sheena + Colleen + Meryl for a lovely evening. Thank you, thank you. I am filled.

428

Two weeks ago I was all shades of blue: the great steps I thought my body was making in getting well were reversing, stress was creeping in the background from school, and then came the news of Callen's passing, which flattened me entirely.

Ryan didn't know what to do, the sweet man. He felt so urgently helpless, would tell the silliest jokes (in the car, I said something was an abomination and he looked at me with his crooked grin and said, "That's where we live! An Obama-nation!" Wah-wah), and even came home with a fistful of carnations, so serene and stayed blooming until this morning.

I think of the color white, how it represents peace, and how I need to find ways to fill my life with that sensation: to allow my body to take its time, to celebrate the positive relationships I have, to enjoy the process of things.

At a friend's suggestion, I have contacted an acupuncturist to work with some of my woes. She and I have also begun a small conversation that includes my deeply considering getting doula training. The prospect makes me shiver with nervousness and excitement; it's something that veers so far from my passion for language, but it touches on that slumbering self, the one that loves to pick things up and look close, the one that is curious about the scientific world, and, as my internship "boss" put it, I want to do something with my post-MFA time that matters. Besides writing wee poems, that is.

Edit to add: just moments after I posted this Dina gave me a call and I have my first appointment for acupuncture, which is a week from today. She's worked with folks dealing with my particular issue before, and this whole prospect makes me breathe a bit better.

427

Images from the department's celebration of the release of Michael Walsh's The Dirt Riddles.

Also fun: interviews with the faculty in the PhD and MFA program.

426

Last night I dreamed all the snow had melted; I dreamed a month had ecologically passed in fast-forward. I'm jealous when I see images such as those on this post or this post, where the snow has vanished and green has begun to creep back in. I love the edges of spring. Christmas may have lost its utter arms-open joy (though what a pleasure it is to watch children on this holiday!), but the giddiness stirs when I think of spring.

I have a massively oppressive and much-neglected to-do list, one I wish would simply vanish, but the only way to accomplish this is to roll up those metaphorical sleeves and dig in. Sigh.