#224: A late night care package from home
Dear reader,
I’m writing to you once again from Alipore, the OG headquarters of The Alipore Post. Nostalgia has struck, and I find myself foraging for beauty and midnight snacks while putting this together late at night.
February went by too fast, and the fact that there’s only 28 days in the month made it even more anxiety-inducing. There was too much to do, too many places to be, and I tried to stay on top of things. Flowers and friendships helped. So did two shows - Extraordinary and Will Trent (both on Hotstar).
Anyhoo, I hope you’re doing alright, pulling along in this new year. If you aren’t, sending warm hugs via this email.
Poetry Corner
Some poems that got me through this month:
1. How to Do Absolutely Nothing by Barbara Kingsolver
Rent a house near the beach, or a cabin
but: Do not take your walking shoes.
Don’t take any clothes you’d wear
anyplace anyone would see you.
Don’t take your rechargeables.
Take Scrabble if you have to,
but not a dictionary and no
pencils for keeping score.
Don’t take a cookbook
or anything to cook.
A fishing pole, ok
but not the line,
hook, sinker,
leave it all.
Find out
what’s
left.
Dearly beloved, we are gathered
here together today to look into
the face of the river.
One of us has stayed at home
to rake the leaves,
gathering those poor tears
shed for the rest of us.
If there is one among you
who sees in the face of the river
your own, please step forward
and identify the source of your
wealth. If not, can you give us
a thumbnail sketch
of the important philosophers
in Golden Greece?
An old cedar stood by,
simply thankful she existed.
And a young fox, who had
neither dreams nor feelings
in this French.
And the one at a distance
raking the leaves did not
think of them as tears,
but as simple toil, conducted
without compromise.
In the sweet fresh morning
how good it was to be alone
with potato parings filling
his mind. To whom should he speak?
There was no one but the leaves
and the leaves did not feel
he had anything worth saying.
3. Dog in Bed by Joyce Sidman
Nose tucked under tail,
you are a warm, furred planet
centered in my bed.
All night I orbit, tangle-limbed,
in the slim space
allotted to me.
If I accidentally
bump you from sleep,
you shift, groan,
drape your chin on my hip.
O, that languid, movie-star drape!
I can never resist it.
Digging my fingers into your fur,
kneading,
I wonder:
How do you dream?
What do you adore?
Why should your black silk ears
feel like happiness?
This is how it is with love.
Once invited,
it steps in gently,
circles twice,
and takes up as much space
as you will give it.
4. Theories of Time and Space by Natasha Trethewey
You can get there from here, though
there’s no going home.
Everywhere you go will be somewhere
you’ve never been. Try this:
head south on Mississippi 49, one—
by—one mile markers ticking off
another minute of your life. Follow this
to its natural conclusion—dead end
at the coast, the pier at Gulfport where
riggings of shrimp boats are loose stitches
in a sky threatening rain. Cross over
the man-made beach, 26 miles of sand
dumped on a mangrove swamp—buried
terrain of the past. Bring only
what you must carry—tome of memory
its random blank pages. On the dock
where you board the boat for Ship Island,
someone will take your picture:
the photograph—who you were—
will be waiting when you return
5. Why I Wake Early by Mary Oliver
Listening Room
A few songs I looped this month:
Links I enjoyed
The yumminess that is Atul Dodiya’s new exhibition, Dr. Banerjee in Dr. Kulkarni’s Nursing Home and Other Paintings 2020-2022 (Architectural Digest)
Kai Cheng Thom’s post on Instagram boundaries. I echo each point, and am so grateful someone put this down!
While Standing My Ground: an ongoing series of photographs by Rima Maroun documenting the landscapes of Beirut during the isolation of Covid, catastrophic explosions, and crippling inflation.
Me and My Moulton by Torill Kove (Thanks for sharing, S)
On the Wishlist: Two books on mothers
1. Almost All the Flowers in My Mother’s Garden by Hilla Kurki
Almost All the Flowers in My Mother’s Garden is a 144-page work containing more than 100 pictures of flowers, mainly photographed in the author’s mother’s garden, and intimate memories of mothers by anonymous daughters. In the book, the memories are merged together, and thus do not personify in one specific mother, making even painful memories easier to encounter. The flowers in the pictures symbolize the care, or the lack of it, that forms the basis of our growth.
(Khao Publishing)
2. What to Do When I’m Gone: A Mother's Wisdom to Her Daughter by Hallie Bateman and Suzy Hopkins
One sleepless night while she was in her early twenties, illustrator/writer Hallie Bateman had a painful realization: Someday, her mother would be gone. The prospect was devastating, and also scary—how would she navigate the world without the person who gave her life? She thought about all the motherly advice she would miss—advice that could help her through the challenges to come, including the ordeal of losing a parent.
The next day, Hallie asked her mother, writer Suzy Hopkins, to record step-by-step instructions for her to follow in the event of her mom’s death. The list began: “Pour yourself a stiff glass of whiskey and make some fajitas” and continued from there, addressing issues great and small—from choosing a life partner to baking a quiche. The project became a way for mother and daughter to discuss everyday realities with humor, openness, and gratitude. It led to this book.
Closing this newsletter with these parting words: (via)
“It's never too late to change your mind. To start again. To begin a new career. To focus on your health. To dream bigger dreams. To say sorry. To find love. To educate yourself. To slow down. To notice the beauty around you. To say I love you. To forgive. To love yourself a little more. To walk away. To make a wish. It's never too late. If you're thirty, sixty or beyond, it's still not too late. It's never too late to discover more about yourself. It's never too late to be more you, than ever before.”
-Lisa Buscomb, Wildy Deserving
Sending warmth from home,
Rohini / Rohu (I love hearing Ma call me that)
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