Having returned from reading Bhanu Kapil’s brilliant Was Jack Kerouac a Punjabi blog, I realized how far I’ve come from the planning of my days to a semester’s schedule. At this time last year, or even this year, if I were teaching in Illinois, I would be handing in my final grades, asking a friend to water plants, and heading home for the holidays with a copy of my Spring syllabus and some books to read. I will still be heading home to New Jersey where there might be a tree or two, starry skies, and maybe snow. There has been no snow on the Cape so far, and this December has felt like October–bracing, if not balmy at times. Isn’t another definition of balmy Global Warming?
It’s quiet, though, unlike October; the leaves have fallen, and the crowds have become weekenders. It’s still; time slows down, even if it’s Sunday. It feels like I am caught in a moment of hover.
It’s only three o’clock.
I think of Fanny Howe’s book, “O’Clock” which is a perfect holiday gift to give everyone.
I think of Murakami’s 1Q84 which I will read in January.
I think of the new Kate Atkinson I will take to NJ with me.
I hope this time I’ve got my niece the shell she wanted.