Dec. 8th, 2015

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This week is the last week of classes before finals and so I have been caught up in the whirlwind of it all. I have a great many things to do, but not more than it is possible to manage which stands out in stark contrast to my midterm exams. If anything it is the life tasks pulling me under rather than the school tasks. I am eagerly looking forward to the end of this semester which has been hard and unpleasant in even more ways than I anticipated. I've been considering trying to take an online class overlapped with my other classes in order to better prepare myself for what I need to do in terms of extra work outside of regular enrollment but I'm concerned that 5 classes and two jobs may be too much. Luckily I have a little bit of time before I have to decide. I have also been considering archiving parts of this blog on wordpress since it's easier to manage in a lot of ways. I will update as necessary. The future looks bright and I can't wait to get there. 

Links
Marvel and ESPN have joined forces and it's pretty great! Plus I was happy to discover many of my favorites (subjects and artists) made the list.
NPR's book concierge is out and I'm really happy about because more books are just what I need.
It's gift season. I've been looking at this general homemade gift board and this weekend knitting and crochet one
I'm really attached to the idea of making molten halva lava cakes when I get home for the holidays, my family will likely be less enthused. 


Poem of the week 

Maggie Says There's No Such Thing as Winter
BY JANET MCNALLY
 
If you believe in snow, you have to believe
in water as it's meant to be, loosed
 
from clouds arranged like asphodel. Because that's
what it's like to come back: a slow
 
surfacing, memory spiraling away. You can sleep
so long, whole seasons are forgotten
 
like a hospital-room plaster, spidered
with cracks in Portugal shapes. You can love
 
sleep like water, love your heavy limbs
pushing river and ocean aside.
 
After Maggie woke, the doctors had her stringing
bracelets of semiprecious beads, and she
 
couldn't stop counting the kinds of blue.
Here, summer, in the high shade of a ginko,
 
she pulls up a handful of stones on silk
and we drink grapefruit seltzer, listening
 
to the tinny chime of bubbles
rising to the air. She can't remember
 
autumn, so we tell her someday this tree will drop
its fan-shaped leaves all at once,
 
golden in the October crush
of every plant's frantic strip show. Later
 
we'll see mountains through the scrim of empty
branches, and if we can look straight up
 
into the atmosphere, see the same plain old sky
revolving. When we ask Maggie what color it is
 
she always says iolite, picturing beads
like raindrops, shining azure on the table.
 
She forgets that sometimes things don't stay
where you leave them, that the sky fades
 
to white even before snow begins
to fall. It's hard, but we have to tell her
 
even sapphires don't glow blue
without some kind of help.
 
 
Source: Some Girls (White Pine Press, 2015)

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