Antonia Sophia

 

Argh. Some humans are very very bad at peopling. In a holding pattern right now. In the meantime, here are some images. The first was taken in Riverdale, Edmonton; the second was taken somewhere in Edmonton; the third was taken at 7711 in 1970.

 

Seeing the pandemic from LIW's eyes

 Good day,

My title is obviously fanciful: Laura Ingalls Wilder did not write about a pandemic. But because I am re-reading various books in the Little House series in support of my teaching, I happened upon this passage:

After the October Blizzard last fall, they had all moved to town and for a little while Laura had gone to school there. Then the storms had stopped school, and all through that long winter the blizzards had howled between the houses, shutting them off from each other so that day after day and night after night not a voice could be heard and not a light could be seen through the whirling snow.

All winter long, they had been crowded in the little kitchen, cold and hungry and working hard in the dark and the cold to twist enough hay to keep the fire going and to grind wheat in the coffee mill for the day's bread.

All that long, long winter, the only hope had been that sometime winter must end, sometime blizzards must stop, the sun would shine warm again and they could all get away from the town and go back to the homestead claim.

Not a perfect analogy, obviously, but it resonated yesterday. Edmonton enjoyed a beautiful spring day: sunshine, melting snow, people out walking and greeting each other ... For a few hours I felt hopeful.

Obligatory anniversary post

Since posts like this are everywhere this week, here's mine. 

One year today, everything changed utterly. March 12, 2020 is the last day I was in a classroom with students face to face. The next day — Friday, March 13 — I was supposed to have a three-hour afternoon class with editing students. A third of them indicated before noon that they would not be attending class because of the mysterious virus they were afraid to contract, so I shifted the class to a series of online posts, notes, and readings. And thus it would be for the remainder of academic year 2019/20 and thus it remains for academic year 2020/21.

The pandemic has destroyed my brain. I experience all the things people talk about: brain fog, lost memories from the early months of the pandemic (March–May), unrelenting depression. On an average day I have about 80 minutes of good brain time; but my average work day is still ten hours long. So a lot of what I do is either extremely slow and inefficient or of dubious quality. Not ideal for someone who does intellectual labour.

We still don't know what the fall will look like — how can we? The situation is so changeable. Right now I am slated to go back to working on campus by the end of August and may be teaching in person the week after Thanksgiving. But lots could happen between now and then, for good or for bad. The larger context of Alberta post-secondary institutions is grim, and many students cannot afford to continue their studies next year. 

Until then, trudge trudge / whee whee.

Poor resolution

 

Hey there,

So much for that resolution to write more. In my defence — not that anyone's asking — I've been writing in other areas of my life QUITE A LOT. So.

It's the first day of March. One sixth of the year is over. And I have listened at least once to approximately 44 percent of the music currently in my iTunes library.

So that's something, right?

À bientôt,

L