For the most part, however, Monday was meeting upon meeting upon meeting followed by an evening grad class. The problem was that as we entered our room, there were three faculty members with their students piling in with us. They were told they were assigned the space for their evening guest speaker and I was like, "Nope. We've been here since the beginning of the semester." This never goes well, as argumentation to move my class elsewhere ensued. Where are we supposed to go? We've been in the space since January? I went downstairs to check in the Dean's Office (of course it was shut up for the day, but luckily caught an administrative assistant as she was leaving. She had no record as to why these colleagues would assume the space I'm teaching was theirs. Alas, that always makes for frantic quibbles. By the time I got back, they were all gone and found another locations, I guess. This is what happens when space on campus is over capacity. And people get testy.
Anyways, the blueberry poem.
Vaccinium Corymbosum
b.r.crandall
She often bought pierogis, leaving the plate on the floor of my breezeway. Whenever I walked the dogs by her house they knew they’d get sandwich meat. - it’s why I’d always find them on her front porch when they escaped the yard.
Najdrobniejszy akt życzliwości wart jest największej uwagi. Kahil Gibran can be translated into any language - kindness is meant to be universal.
On birthdays, when her kids came to visit, I’d bring her orchids, hyacynths, and eventually blueberry bushes to celebrate her life. She’d plant them along the fence we shared so they could kvetch with one another, including my own.
between our two homes
bees pollinate white flowers
causing blueberries.
I remember the morning her husband fell. Pomocy! Potrzebuję pomocy! Mój mąż upadł. I ran over and helped him off the ground. He was lying in her daffodils.
A few months later he passed.
She followed soon after.
