the important vote

at 7 pm greg and i were ready for the big online meeting with the coop. it was supposed to be a hybrid meeting - in person and zoom. however, there had been a few threats made so it was deemed better to just be online (to boycott or not to boycott - it's a very heated topic).

(chanda came in to order pluto's special canned allergy food diet . . )

there were a lot of technical problems to get through as over 7000 people had registered to be on the call, with 6875 actually finally being online. we had two practice votes to iron out tech difficulties and then the meeting rules (robert's rules) had to be reviewed. the first vote was to eliminate the 75% supermajority that had been voted in several years ago when talk of the boycott gained support and reinstate the 51% majority that has always been used for member votes. this passed with a large majority (i believe it was 69%). there was then a motion that the boycott should be a referendum for all members to mail in a yes or no vote which was voted down (past boycotts have always taken place during a general meeting which is what this was). it was then time to present the motion to boycott and i was incredibly moved by the presentation eloquently stated by four coop members. one couldn't help but be moved by the painful facts that have been playing out on the news and people's social media. finally, at 10:11 pm the poll showed up on everyone's screens and the vote commenced. 67% voted to boycott, 31% voted no and 2% abstained (the final number of members voting was 6772).

you can read the guardian's account of the meeting here. 

it was an exciting night!!

tea and a talk

i woke to a very chilly and rainy day and i almost didn't want to venture out to meet korrina in the afternoon . . (photo by korrina of the tree in her courtyard).

but it warmed up and the rain stopped and we met at madman bakery on university for foccacia and a sandwich, latte, tea, a chocolate chip cookie . . and a call from morgan too. it was a nice afternoon. korrina was off for the day and went home afterwards, while i met greg for a very special event . . 

a conversation and reading with poet mosab abu toha . . i have both his books and i've posted his poetry on several sunday mornings so you might remember his work.

he shared his personal experiences and read many poems from his earlier book and his latest publication, asking that we share his stories. i don't understand how our representatives and too many leaders allow the horror to continue amidst so many calls and protests for it to cease - amidst the violence that is played out on social media every day. (many think they can buy silence, but it cannot be silenced.)

these students were so sweet and had made a banner welcoming him. 

he was very appreciative and was also touched by their gift of a beautiful bouquet of flowers (in the brown wrapping).

there were copies of his new book to purchase and many formed a line to have him sign it. greg is the figure sitting in the back on the left, waiting for me. fortunately, since we had been in the second row, i was able to join the front of the line, which formed along the right and snaked out the door.

almost my turn . . and this is my last photo. i asked for him to sign a particular poem and he asked me why that poem? . . i'll post it for sunday and maybe you can guess the reason.

afterwards, we walked to our favorite ramen place and had a quiet dinner, bringing home a kale salad and chicken appetizer for chanda.

friday morning update

listening to brian lehrer talk with elie mystal on wnyc . . 

i didn't post for a long time as i was enjoying all the fun holiday family time. then i didn't post as i was missing all the fun holiday family time. and then i was unhappy with government stuff (which hasn't changed and has only grown worse) . . and then i was out of the habit of posting . . and now i just miss posting, so here i am. 

(january 8th and 9th have also gone up) 

pluto squinting in the sunlight . . 

pluto is ready for lunch and is letting me know.

brian lehrer is now speaking with katherine wu (a journalist for the atlantic magazine) who is outlining how the administration's cuts to research grants will affect scientific progress and important medicines needed for patients. a person who called in just said, "as a people, do we believe in public knowledge or not?" another person called in to share that she and her coworkers experienced a hostile takeover of their department and all were fired under false pretenses (using bad work reports as an excuse when their work reports were all positive - many are preparing to contest this in the courts). all episodes can be accessed on spotify (wnyc/the brian lehrer show under podcasts and shows).

october 7

 sobbing without sound

i wish i could wake up and find the electricity on all day long,

i wish i could hear the birds sing again, no shooting and no buzzing drones.

i wish my desk would call me to hold my pen and write again,

or at least plow through a novel, revisit a poem, or read a play.

all around me are nothing

but silent walls

and people sobbing

without sound.

from things you may find hidden in my ear, page 25, by mosab abu toha (born 1992)

morning shenanigans, baking and postcards

zuzu's morning routine . . 

making a plum cake with plums bought on monday (after korrina had texted me to let me know they were available at the green market) . .  

so i walked over and purchased eighteen of them . . and made a proper cake (i had tried it with round plums and it just wasn't as good.)

a favorite breakfast . . 

----

i stopped at the rubin museum in the late afternoon as it's their last week. they're closing their nyc space and will now have specific exhibitions in different cities all over the world. i think their current exhibition will be moving to san francisco once it closes on sunday. i colored a flag for their sunday evening good-bye flag ceremony.

dinner was steamed sweet potatoes and bok choy with brown rice . . 

and thankfully i found the roll of postcard stamps that the cats had been playing with (it had rolled under my desk). i wrote out fifty postcards to georgia voters from the organization students for voting justice.

cats, pizza, a package and a daring sea gull

my sister's photo of toby the cat enjoying some cool morning air before the sun hits the deck.

the athenian maker was participating in a fundraiser to help some families in gaza and i purchased a pair of beautiful knitted and hand dyed fingerless gloves from her. the mail carrier brought them all the way up to my floor as i had to sign for the package . . i was very surprised as i had forgotten that i would be receiving an overseas delivery. it as also kind of him to walk up (it's so hot!) as everyone usually asks us to walk down to the lobby.

greg and i had leftover pizza for dinner this evening . . cricket and zuzu had their eyes on it too.

korrina sent a video of a seagull stealing someone's food on the beach while they were away from their blanket . . 

he went back for more! he's so funny how he slips quickly away and then quickly back again!

may day

i ran a few errands today, one of which was taking a tiara and black character skirt to chanda's old ballet teacher at joffrey. it was nice to see her and we enjoyed catching up on each other's children and her students who studied with chanda.

chanda is giving treats to the cats. for dinner tonight i defrosted a tuna steak i had in the freezer which we ate with leftover scallops, sautéed spinach with garlic, and potatoes from muddy farm. right now i hear sirens wailing in the distance. we continue calling and emailing and the students continue protesting. 

flying poem

like a woman

hanging her laundry on the clothesline,

i hang my words

on the lines of my page.

heavy, frightened words,

spread fear in my room.

they shrink

when exposed to the sun

of the reading eye.

my words

dry up.

the next day,

my brother, tired of

gazing at those fainting letters,

throws the book 

in the drawer.

the sun sets behind

the eyelid.

the words in the drawer

swelter and stew in their sweat.

my little niece smells them.

she opens the drawer.

the words fly out.

the poem is free.

it lands in nests of migratory birds.

they sing it to the passing clouds.

by mosab abu toha, pp. 23-24, things you may find hidden in my ear (2022)

sunday morning poem

on gaza seashore

i convince myself that a palm tree never bends

nor do its dates rot.

i imagine the sky only occupied by birds

and swollen clouds.

i walk alone along the beach and never fear getting drenched

by the cold, silent waves.

should you find me asleep, be sure i am either

dreaming of roses and doves or staring into the void

beneath me.

i will dress in my rosy suit and walk to the port,

even though i know no ship is arriving.

my hope is that you will come flying to me

on your tireless wings.

i will collect seashells and pebbles to build a house

for us on the beach until you come.

i don't know how many houses i will have built

before you come.

i'm afraid i will rebuild gaza by then.

by mosab abu toha, from things you may find hidden in my ear, city lights books, 2022

spring flowers and books

everything is blooming . .

i stopped by mcnally jackson on my way to help ellen today and my heart warmed to see a special bookshelf devoted to palestinian literature.

the redbud tree i pass on my way home . .

sunny day

chanda worked at home today, finishing up articles for her journalism class, while i walked milly and participated in afsc's action hour during which they had laila el-haddad on to share what is happening in gaza. i have her cookbook and and a book of her blog posts (her blog can be read here: gaza mom) from 2005 to 2014. it's heartbreaking to hear her stories and how things have gone from bad to worse, but everyone keeps calling, writing, protesting. i appreciate the action hours jewish voice for peace and the american friends service committee has. i know afsc has been involved since 1948 . . or maybe even earlier. (laila did an episode on anthony bourdain's show parts unknown. i think the full episode can be accessed on either amazon or apple tv, but there is also a good account of it by maysoon zayid in the daily beast which you can read here. a short clip from the show is also included).

i met my neighbor for a walk by the river . . 

she had made banana bread and we sat with coffee and a tumeric latte to catch up on things and then walked to little island.

everyone was out enjoying the day. 

it felt good to feel the sun on my face and to have a blue sky above us.

 the crocuses have popped up in our courtyard . . seemingly overnight. and we jump ahead an hour this weekend.

Ceasefire Song

 

yesterday on the jewish voice for peace power half hour for gaza, they shared this video created by ayanna gregory and common hymnal and friends. it's a beautiful song and they would like it to be shared with everyone, everywhere. just go to ceasefiresong.com and share!

a poem for sunday

 

the darkling thrush

i leant upon a coppice gate

when frost was spectre-grey,

and winter's dregs made desolate

the weakening eye of day.

the tangled bine-stems scored the sky

like strings of broken lyres,

and all mankind that haunted nigh

had sought their household fires.

the land's sharp features seemed to be

the century's corpse outleant,

his crypt the cloudy canopy,

the wind his death-lament.

the ancient pulse of germ and birth

was shrunken hard and dry,

and every spirit upon earth

seemed fervourless as i.

at once a voice arose among

the bleak twigs overhead

in a full-hearted evensong

of joy illimited;

an aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,

in blast-beruffled plume,

had chosen thus to fling his soul

upon the growing gloom.

so little cause for carolings

of such ecstatic sound

was written on terrestrial things

afar or nigh around,

that i could think there trembled through

his happy good-night air

some blessed Hope, whereof he knew

and i was unaware.

by thomas hardy (1840-1928)

christmas cookies on valentine's day

the christmas cookies look so pretty in their glass jar. my mom bought this for me over forty years ago . . yesterday i was missing her so much . . yesterday i was missing seemingly everyone and everything . . so much.

yesterday when i was missing so many and so much i kept thinking of those who've lost everything . . 

what is home?

what is home:

it is the shade of trees on my way to school

before they were uprooted.

it is my grandparents' black-and-white wedding

photo before the walls crumbled.

it is my uncle's prayer rug, where dozens of ants

slept on wintry nights, before it was looted and 

put in a museum.

it is the oven my mother used to bake bread and

roast chicken before a bomb reduced our house

to ashes.

it is the cafe where i watched football matches

and played--

my child stops me: can a four letter word hold

all of these?

mosab abu toha (born 1992)

morning poem

if i must die

if i must die,

you must live

to tell my story

to sell my things

to buy a piece of cloth

and some strings,

(make it white with a long tail)

so that a child, somewhere in gaza

while looking heaven in the eye

awaiting his dad who left in a blaze--

and bid no one farewell

not even to his flesh

not even to himself--

sees the kite, my kite you made, flying up above

and thinks for a moment an angel is there

bringing back love

if i must die

let it bring hope

let it be a tale

by refaat alareer (1979-2023)

in memory of refaat alareer by layne mullett, director media relations, american friends service committee

morning poem

 

i grant you refuge

1.

i grant you refuge

in invocation and prayer.

i bless the neighborhood and the minaret

to guard them

from the rocket

from the moment

it is a general's command

until it becomes

a raid.

i grant you and the little ones refuge,

the little ones who

change the rocket's course

before it lands

with their smiles.

2.

i grant you and the little ones refuge,

the little ones now asleep like chicks in a nest.

they don't walk in their sleep toward dreams.

they know death lurks outside the house.

their mothers' tears are now doves

following them, trailing behind

every coffin.

3.

i grant the father refuge,

the little ones' father who holds the house upright

when it tilts after the bombs.

he implores the moment of death:

"have mercy. spare me a little while.

for their sake, i've learned to love my life.

grant them a death

as beautiful as they are."

4.

i grant you refuge

from hurt and death,

refuge in the glory of our siege,

here in the belly of the whale.

our streets exalt god with every bomb.

they pray for the mosques and the houses.

and every time the bombing begins in the north,

our supplications arise in the south.

5.

i grant you refuge

from hurt and suffering.

with words of sacred scripture

i shield the oranges from the sting of phosphorus

and the shades of cloud from the smog.

i grant you refuge in knowing

that the dust will clear,

and they who fell in love and died together

will one day laugh.

by hiba abu nada (1991-2023)

translated by huda fakhreddine

hiba abu nada, novelist, poet, educator,

killed in her home in south gaza by an israeli raid on october 20th, 2023.

her last online post was written october 8th . . 

"gaza's night is dark apart from the glow of rockets, quiet apart from the sound of the bombs, terrifying apart from the comfort of prayer, black apart from the light of the martyrs. good night, gaza."

you can go to this page of the literary hub to hear her recite her work (scroll down to the middle of the page).

 words from john paul lederach, senior fellow at humanity united and professor emeritus at the university of notre dame (eva's alma mater), from the email newsletter of krista tippetts's on being project:

From John Paul:

The images of this week remain seared in our minds. While painful, they will not and should not be unseen, precisely because they help us look more carefully at what peers back at us from our national mirror.

We are not looking at a fringe few. We are gazing upon ourselves. 

The images reminded me of the action and the words of Zechariah when pondering the question, “What are these wounds between your arms?” With hands moving toward heart the response emerged, “the wounds I received in the house of a friend.”

We are a deeply wounded nation. We know from trauma studies that our bodies carry the harm, and that the deepest pain is always the one experienced closest to home. Our wider body politic carries, not just the pain of what we witnessed this week, we carry centuries of harm — incited, delivered, and received from within our house.

I have noticed that across a wide and deeply divided political spectrum, most everyone seeks to speak for and protect the Constitution, almost as if our shared document is a victim. I would offer that the deeper casualty lies with the loss of our basic social contract. We note its disappearance when toxic social dynamics spill into the mainstream of our collective life: dehumanization replaces basic respect; blame supplants responsibility; and violence is justified over dialogue.

We also know from settings of armed conflict and from our own exemplars in this country who never stopped building the more perfect union, that it is possible to reverse these dynamics. 

Perhaps Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. captured this better than anyone. He consistently appealed to guiding pillars that sustained the commitment to the social contract while pursuing long sought change for equity and equality in the midst of deep division.

His first pillar referenced the deep soul’s despair that waiting for change was no longer an option. The ploys and pragmatism of politics kept placing true equality just out of reach, deferred to the next election or into potential new legislative goals. Promises no longer sufficed. “The sweltering summer,” as he called it, could no longer accept the “tranquilizing drug of gradualism.” This temporal pillar required such immediate action — and act they did and so must we — that he referred to it as the "fierce urgency of now."

His second pillar constantly reminded people that the struggle for equality and dignity unfolds by way of a long and difficult pathway. So significant was this temporal challenge that in his words, now etched on a national monument, the movement must “hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope.” Hope requires patience and persistence precisely because “the arc of the moral universe is long,” even as “it bends toward justice.”

In the midst of the temporal tension playing out between the fierce now and the long arc, Dr. King’s vision never wavered in the third pillar: the commitment to nonviolence and appreciation for our ultimate interdependence. Over and again, his imagination captured the understanding that while the past carries forward profound violation of dignity and the present continues to humiliate and divide, our future is shared. Calling this out in his “I Have a Dream” speech, he noted that across racial divides “their freedom is inextricably bound with our freedom” followed by the shortest single sentence in the speech: We cannot walk alone.

These pillars offer the way forward into renewing our social contract and reversing toxic dynamics.

Act on and walk into what you know to be true. Start local. Reach out beyond your comfort zone. 

Commit to nonviolence. Always protect the dignity of others.

Walk together. In this the stone of hope is hewn.