Discovering January
Tracks in the snow and the semester starts and I'm ready enough
I remember towards the end of my MFA, I got so sick of my own poems. They were well-made. Certainly looked like poems. Obediently over at the left margin. But... ugh!
That's when I began to let the words move across the page. Or, rather, let them show up where they wanted.
It's like when my hair is styled too straight. It isn't really straight. It's naturally a little wavy and looks better that way.
My house too tends to be a wee bit messy. I've got a lot of projects.
And the back of weavings also: not so neat. I try to clean them up, but I don’t try that hard.
Anyway, you get the idea. The semester starts and I have a good plan. But not all the way and that feels just fine. After all, I need something to discover.
I’ve written before about how much I enjoy planning and improvisation, which (for me) are essential for writing and teaching and weaving and gardening and cooking and even baking.
I recently cut a weaving, nearly done, off the loom and just threw it away. It was boring, so why continue? And the loom could be better used for a weaving I might like. Snip snip! Felt good. Curiously, the weaving, once freed from the loom, was briefly more interesting to me — should I keep it, I wondered. Nah, toss it, I said to myself, so that’s what I did.
Is that the energy, as they say, of 2025? Oh, I don’t know. That seems a bit pronouncement-y. But look at those animal tracks! Gotta keep going, one way or another, seems to be the message. There are discoveries to be made. I don’t mean that in a dreamy way. If you’re an animal and it’s winter, wouldn’t you be out and about with the very purpose of discovering or rediscovering food? Or maybe something cozy to add to your home?
Meanwhile, January is by turns purposeful and dreary. One day feels like dusk all day; the next, there’s blinding sun off the snow. I like to hibernate and I like chilly walks.
Recent snow and a lot of it in West Virginia has necessitated both hibernation and quick walks in the serious cold. Kip and Polly love the snow, and Polly especially loves to help herself to a sno-cone, but they don’t like cold paws (or wearing boots!) and sometimes they have to be carried.
Is it really only week two of the semester? That’s what the calendar says, anyway. Good ol’ January: what can be discovered?
Here’s a poem, a moving across the page one that appeared in Purr, that’s about being on the lookout for what’s next. And of course it goes without saying that I don’t write like this much anymore. But if it feels like there’s something to discover by doing so, I’m sure I’ll circle back.
This time, the recipe round-up includes a fancy old favorite, the Pandoro, and two fancy-ish new favorites: almond tiramisu and chocolate chip ricotta cookies. Also, a fun little treat: cheese straws, which felt like a Girl Scout project. I mean that in a good way!
Have I written before about the Pandoro? I use Paul Hollywood’s recipe. It’s good, but I did make one change this year: one less egg yolk, partly because in the past it’s been a challenge to get the Pandoro baked all the way through and partly because I don’t like eggs. If I get it in my mind that something tastes (or looks) eggy... ugh, it’s all over. Eggs are important of course, but I like them where they belong: hidden in brownies, etc.
My quest to make almond tiramisu has been inspired by the delicious almond cream cake (is that what it’s called?) at Muriale’s in Fairmont, West Virginia. Have you had it? AMAZING.
Not sure my version is quite at that level, but I was pretty pleased and I plan to make it again. I used this recipe, and please note: no eggs.
As for the Chocolate Chip Ricotta Cookies, well, I saw Lidia Bastianich make them on CreateTV (do you know about this PBS station? It’s the best!), and she won't lead you astray. These cookies might look pale (my sister Ellen: “are they cooked?”), but wow are they good. My Michigan neighbors, who are often the recipients of my baking, gave rave reviews.
Even though I was a Girl Scout dropout (a story for another time), I have a collection of Girl Scout Handbooks (yes, really!) and I know a Girl Scout project when I see one. These cheese straws are just that. I can’t recall which recipe I used, so just choose one, and if it doesn’t include dry mustard, add some. Also, extra paprika on top. Again, thumbs up from the neighbors.
This semester I’m teaching ENGL 405: Young Adult Literature. First time doing so, and so far, it’s fun! We began, of course, by remembering the earliest books we read and loved. When I brought in a collection of picture books and easy readers, Frances the badger was everyone’s favorite. Do you remember her? Frances is seriously relatable. The way she gets duped by Thelma: awful! And then the way she gets back at Thelma! You go, Frances. And all this over a tea set. But that’s real life for you.
Also a big hit: Mister Dog, “the dog who belonged to himself.” Talk about life lessons! He even smokes a corncob pipe.
Next up, we’ll be reading The Catcher in the Rye, which seems a pretty natural progression from Mister Dog. I’ve read the novel twice, once in high school and once since. It’s been a lot of years now. Stay tuned.
The students are also working on their Reading Autobiographies: all the highs (and lows) that have made them into the readers they are today. It’s been fun to share stories of reading triumphs and frustrations, favorite books and teachers and librarians, contraband middle grade novels (Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret, of course), and times we pretended to be characters we had read about.
There’s real joy in remembering these things. Several students have offered to lend me their favorite Middle Grade and YA books. Class flies by because everyone wants to talk, which really makes these sometimes long January days a bit better.
What about you? What are your reading memories? What was the best book ever when you were 11? What about 16? Maybe you should read it again now?!
This is weaving #40, the one that replaced the one I threw away. I like it, but, as with poems, I start to think: eh, what’s next? Maybe that’s just January talking; Spring seems far off.
Or maybe thinking so much about those reading memories has gotten me impatient for that kind of excitement. As one of my students said, “I can remember discovering Nancy Drew... and then I read everything!” Me too!
And wasn’t that feeling just the best?