Here for you, Volume 1

Exactly eight months later...

::taps mic:: Hi friends! Hello!

We made it to 2020!

It feels like Move and Groove ended a lifetime ago, and also yesterday. New Year’s week feels like as good a time as any to rename my newsletter (Here for You, because it is, and I’m trying to be) and dust it off, even if I’m not ready to make any promises about frequency.

I don’t have a year in review — let alone a decade in review — Greatest Hits list to share. Here’s the scattering of seeds I can offer tonight:

Dandelions, roar!

For the second half of the year, my newsletter labor of love was Dandelions, which I launched with Joanna Eng on Mother’s Day 2019. We’re rooting (get it?) for empathetic, brave, social justice-hearted families, and yes that is a mouthful, and yes we do try to live up to the tagline in every issue. On the first and third Sunday of each month, we send a roundup of resources and articles related to social justice, families, and a loose theme — like family separation, climate change/climate justice, bodies, thoughtful summer reading and travel, and more. Sometimes we share our innermost thoughts, too.

Read why Dandelions will take up even more of my time in early 2020, or just head here to subscribe if you haven’t yet.

Our next issue goes out this Sunday and will come with a stellar* Spotify playlist. *I can call it that unabashedly because Joanna made it, which will surprise no one who knows us both.

Reflection time

If you’re still in the mood to look in the rearview mirror at the year that was, or a compass for the year that will be, a few links I’ve appreciated this week:

Links

Just a few that I’ve been slowly saving up to share here:

Poem

Via the recently-rebooted Pome daily newsletter:

The Conditional

Say tomorrow doesn't come.
Say the moon becomes an icy pit.
Say the sweet-gum tree is petrified.
Say the sun's a foul black tire fire.
Say the owl's eyes are pinpricks.
Say the raccoon's a hot tar stain.
Say the shirt's plastic ditch-litter.
Say the kitchen's a cow's corpse.
Say we never get to see it: bright
future, stuck like a bum star, never
coming close, never dazzling.
Say we never meet her. Never him.
Say we spend our last moments staring
at each other, hands knotted together,
clutching the dog, watching the sky burn.
Say, It doesn't matter. Say, That would be
enough
. Say you'd still want this: us alive,
right here, feeling lucky.

Ada Limón (2013)

Thanks for reading.

Wishing you good health and restful sleep, much love and many potlucks, and the fierce determination to get the people we need into Congress and the White House in 2020.

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