Baking and Math

I went to a party of millenials last weekend, which made me think of the last time I went to a party of people my age- a friend’s wedding.  Weddings make me think of funerals and vice-versa, as the only times in your life when everyone who loves you comes together to think of you.  I guess you can only enjoy one of them.  Anyway, this isn’t the people at the center of attention of these events, but about the attendees.

For the past eight years or so, whenever a close friend of mine loses someone dear to them, I send them some poems.  After my dad died in 2010 I joined a grief poetry group, and I saved a bunch of those poems as they were a comfort to me, and they continue to offer comfort, sometimes, to others.  So I thought I’d share them with you, in hopes that they comfort you or someone you love.

I’ll also stand on my soapbox here and say if someone you know is grieving, please send them a note or a text or a phone call. Use google and your heart and say anything.  Someone peripherally close to my husband lost her spouse a few years ago, and my husband waffled on whether to send an email, since he didn’t know the spouse.  I very passionately implored him to send something, and not expect a response.  It’s not about the person at the center of attention, it’s about the attendees and the mourners- acknowledge grief!  It sucks to feel like everything is going on without you and no one noticed the giant aching hole that appeared in the world when your person left it.  Look, I’m even giving you something to send!

I still feel so grateful and warm about the friends who appeared at my doorstep when my dad died and sat with me, and the ones who called or emailed or texted.  It’s an overstatement to say I never forgave the ones who didn’t acknowledge my grief, or hung out with me and forgot about it- that implies I still hold a grudge, but it’s more like my fondness and friendship has faded to indifference.  Because that’s how it feels when a friend doesn’t acknowledge a major life event- that they are indifferent to you.  Ouch.  Don’t be indifferent, be loving!  Send a poem or three!  The last of these is my favorite poem but doesn’t really belong on this list.

“Greatest hits”-these are great shortly after a death, but also anytime grief hits.

• The Bustle in a House – Dickinson
  The bustle in a house
  The morning after death
  Is solemnest of industries
  Enacted upon earth, –

  The sweeping up the heart,
  And putting love away
  We shall not want to use again
  Until eternity.

   

• PUSHING THROUGH

  It’s possible I am pushing through solid rock
  in flintlike layers, as the ore lies, alone;
  I am such a long way in I see no way through,
  and no space: everything is close to my face,
  and everything close to my face is stone.
  I don’t have much knowledge yet in grief
  so this massive darkness makes me small.
  You be the master: make yourself fierce, break in:
  then your great transforming will happen to me,
  and my great grief cry will happen to you.
  Rainer Maria Rilke

“Anger”- personally, I was into these after a week or so and the shock had died down.  These poems are a bit angrier and darker than the others, and not everyone resonates with them.

• Funeral Blues
  Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
  Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
  Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
  Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

  Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
  Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead.
  Put crepe bows round the white necks of public doves,
  Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

  He was my North, my South, my East and West.
  My working week and my Sunday rest,
  My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
  I thought that love would last forever; I was wrong.

  The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
  Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
  Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
  For nothing now can ever come to any good.

  – W. H. Auden

• Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
  Do not go gentle into that good night
  Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
  Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
  Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
  Because their words had forked not lightning they
  Do not go gentle into that good night
  Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
  Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay ,
  Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
  Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
  And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
  Do not go gentle into that good night.
  Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
  Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
  Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

  And you my father, there on the sad height,
  Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
  Do not go gentle into that good night.
  Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
  Dylan Thomas
  1914-53

“Abstract”-this quiet poem talks about how everything must die someday.  I love it.

• When a thing is placed
  A shadow of autumn
  Appears there.
  Kyoshi Takahama 

“Acceptance”-these two really resonate with people after a few weeks or months.  I still love them and it’s been years.

• MY FATHER
  I think I am letting him go.
  It is not that my love is diminished
  or that I miss him less.
  It is only that the sun is up
  and there is no milk
  in the refrigerator
  and the bunny got out
  of the cage
  and is eating my red geraniums.
  I think I am letting him go.
  But sometimes at night
  before I go to sleep
  I feel the tears
  fill up my eyes
  and run down my cheeks.
  I do not think I will ever
  let him go.
  But he is gone.
• Remember me when I am gone away,
  Gone far away into the silent land;
  When you can no more hold me by the hand,
  Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.
  Remember me when no more day by day
  You tell me of our future that you plann’d:
  Only remember me; you understand
  It will be late to counsel then or pray.
  Yet if you should forget me for a while
  And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
  For if the darkness and corruption leave
  A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
  Better by far you should forget and smile
  Than that you should remember and be sad.

  – Christina Rossetti

“Love”- these are wonderful warm poems not directly about grief, but great when applied to grief.

• Love-Czeslaw Milosz
  Love means to learn to look at yourself
  The way one looks at distant things
  For you are only one thing among many.
  And whoever sees that way heals his heart,
  Without knowing it, from various ills
  A bird and a tree say to him: Friend.
  Then he wants to use himself and things
  So that they stand in the glow of ripeness.
  It doesn’t matter whether he knows what he serves:
  Who serves best doesn’t always understand.

• Love Does That-Meister Eckhart

  All day long a little burro labors,

  sometimes with heavy loads on her back and sometimes
  just with worries

  about things that bother only
  burros.

  And worries, as we know, can be more exhausting
  than physical labor.

  Once in a while a kind monk comes
  to her stable and brings

  a pear, but more
  than that,

  he looks into the burro’s eyes and touches her ears

  and for a few seconds the burro is free
  and even seems to laugh,

  because love does that.

  Love frees.

  Czeslaw Milos

Tags: sad

I started to write an email to a friend of mine but it reeked of “you are a member of a marginalized group therefore you represent that entire group and must feel a certain prescribed way that I, as a not-member of that group, believe that you should feel.”  The number one advice I read about acting as a good ally is to listen and make room for marginalized groups’ voices instead of centering yourself.  If you haven’t heard of the term “white tears” I suggest you look it up maybe using one of those three helpful links I’ve included in this sentence!  Essentially, if something bad is happening to someone else, the scene should not be about you and your feelings.  I sat down to write a blog post about Orlando, but I don’t want to talk about my feelings too much, so I’ll take this space to let others speak.

A major theme is that the location of the shooting matters, and that gay clubs provide a community space rather than “just” a place to go out at night:

Fifty people were killed, and as many more wounded, in their home. Maybe their only safe place in the world. By someone who didn’t think there should be any safe place in the world for them, because of who they were, because of who they loved.

–Facebook note by Els Kushner about being a “middle-aged librarian” and still connecting to the community that this nightclub represents

Pulse wasn’t just about drinks and dancing—it was a place that invested in its community. Although the LGBTQ+ community in Orlando is large, the reality is that Orlando is still in the South, and the hate these individuals have to face every day requires a place like Pulse to exist.

–Personal essay by Daniel Leon-Davis on Fusion, about being a member of that community

Gay bars are therapy for people who can’t afford therapy; temples for people who lost their religion, or whose religion lost them; vacations for people who can’t go on vacation; homes for folk without families; sanctuaries against aggression.

–Ultimately hopeful article by Richard Kim on the Nation, about his own awakening as to what gay clubs mean.

Another theme is just grief, which I’ve heard described as “the purest pain.”

I think of the chimp, the one with the talking hands.

In the course of the experiment, that chimp had a baby. Imagine how her trainers must have thrilled when the mother, without prompting, began to sign her newborn.

Baby, drink milk.

Baby, play ball.

And when the baby died, the mother stood over the body, her wrinkled hands moving with animal grace, forming again and again the words: Baby, come hug, Baby come hug, fluent now in the language of grief.

-Excerpt from a separate short story, which is quoted over on Jezebel<–this is an article just made for comments, to create a safe space to share feelings and thoughts.  Another open thread is available at Autostraddle.

And finally, intersectionality and a call to arms.

We need our allies to step forward. Give your money and your microphones to queer and trans people, especially to the trans women of color who face the greatest risks and have been the leaders of our movements for decades. Demand accountability from your politicians, law enforcement officials and neighbors who believe no one is watching as they perpetuate discrimination and violence. Remember that LGBTQ people of color are nearly twice as likely to be victims of violence. After this attack on a space that prioritized the safety and community of black and Latinx queers, it is even more important to make sure our efforts center on people of color.

-A column by Audrey White over at the Dallas News

It should be noted that this attack to a black and Latinx-friendly gay club happened both during Ramadan and Pride Month.  So I also wanted to include a personal essay by a gay Muslim writer, but I’m having a tough time finding something (let me know if you find something!)  Instead here’s a bit of a video interview with a gay imam, which mostly focuses on media coverage:

One of the issues I think is very important, in many communities of color, there’s a stigma about mental health. And in my pastoral counseling that I provide to not only LGBT Muslims, but also young Muslims, interfaith couples, older Muslims who are now in a different culture, we find that the shaming that comes from acknowledging that one may have some issues that may relate to mental health, often people are not willing to go and seek additional help because of that shaming or that cultural stigma that’s associated with it.

I’m having troubles with my computer so I haven’t actually watched this video by a St. Louis imam, but it’s supposed to be nice.

Here are events happening in your town.  Here is where you can donate to the victims and the victims’ families, via Equality Florida.  You can also donate to the crisis counseling center, via the GLBT Community Center for central Florida.

I’m sorry that we live in this hateful society.  All of me boils with wanting to act, to change the system, to do something, and my heart breaks in the face of overwhelming loss.  The media started saying “act of terror” very quickly (which I don’t like b/c racism-Islamophobia), and it’s also got a kernel of truth to it: that terrorism is random violence meant to intimidate us from living unafraid and joyful lives.  I like the title of Richard Kim’s article cited above: Please don’t stop the music.  Living joyfully, building community, speaking up, calling people in- I really believe this is the best way for everyday people to fight against these dark forces.  Also donate blood if you can.  And, yknow, give people hugs. And call your family (biological or chosen) and tell them you love them.

Tags: sad

Also, I should’ve said this in my last post: a big thank you to Evelyn Lamb for her sweet post featuring Baking and Math on the AMS Blog on Math Blogs!  I’m sure readers from there were surprised to see my mom’s thit kho recipe as the first thing.  Also readers from The neuro blogs daily– I do not understand that website but Evelyn’s post was reposted there too!

Another edition of Yen describes an issue not really related to baking or math and has no solutions for it!

At the end of every term, we get teaching evaluations.  I also ask for feedback from my students throughout the semester.  Over the past three years, I’ve heard this comment in these exact words many times: “It’s so nice that you can speak English.”  And plenty of variations on this theme.

I get it.  Students see my name, and are relieved when I come in on day one and start talking with my clearly American accent (this is universal; I’m curious what their reactions are to my gender).  I was an undergrad once too, and the language barrier is a real thing which is somehow more insurmountable-feeling than cultural barriers and gender barriers (these also exist but are not the topic of this post).  Since English is both of my parents’ (and lots of my extended family’s) second language, I have more practice than a lot of my students at

1. Parsing grammatical/word choice errors for actual meaning
2. Understanding accented English.

I also notice this when I speak in French and Vietnamese- people who are used to talking to foreigners are better at figuring out what the heck I’m trying to say, while my fellow undergraduates during my semester abroad struggled at hearing through my accented French to my meaning.

My favorite thing to come up when I googled “language barriers.” By Rebecca Critchley’s deviantart account. Click on image for the original. http://red-wolf7.deviantart.com

That same year that I studied abroad in France, I spent the summer in Vietnam doing an ethnographic research project on women mathematicians.  I have never taken an anthropology course nor a sociology course so I find it incredible (as in not-credible, rather than awe-inspiring) that I did this.  You can read my paper here.  (I never published this; this is the first time anyone but my incredibly supportive undergraduate research advisor has seen it.)  At the end of the summer, I taught a TOEFL class at Can Tho University.

TOEFL (pronounced toe-full) stands for Test of English as a Foreign Language, and as far as I can tell, is required for international students who wish to do graduate work in the US (and probably for other people too).  My classeshad an emphasis on writing and conversation practice- the students had already had years of reading comprehension practice.  By the end of the three weeks, the daily essays had definitely improved grammatically, and I think everyone was more confident with speaking (which is half the battle) but there were still so many things that could improve.  Plus, I was just one native English speaker with however many students- they were lucky to have me, but I still wasn’t enough.

I’m saying that language is hard.  I imagine if I ever went to France or Canada and taught, my teaching reviews would say something like ELLE NE CONNAIT PAS FRANCAIS, LE PIRE ASSISTANT D’ENSEIGNEMENT.  (Case in point: I used google translate to write that).

What do we do as graduate students?  The US has so many research institutions, and if you aren’t staying in your country/region, this seems like a great bet.  It’s not like graduate students actively want to be bad TAs or hate learning languages, but our primary objective is doing research.  Mastering a language takes hundreds of hours that we feel we don’t have if we want to get our Ph.D. in whatever we’re getting it in.  There’s little incentive to do more than the bare minimum (get some particular score on the TOEFL, talk to your advisor), because every minute we spend teaching or learning a language or doing something else with our brains is a minute that we aren’t spending doing research.

So everyone loses.  My students are relieved to hear my English because they’ve had other TAs who they couldn’t understand or learn from.  Graduate students are disheartened by their students’ dislike, which disincentivizes them to get “better” at the language- plus it’s unclear how to do that anyway.  This is the system.

Capybara pictures to feel happy!

From http://gianthamster.com.  These are my favorite animal.

As featured in HuffPo! Click on image for link to story

BONUS: incredible poem linking capybaras and math by Sandra Beasley.  Thanks much to Evelyn Lamb for tweeting this!

Tags: sad