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Warehouses. As Terry Pratchett wrote: sin is when you treat people like things (Carpe Jugulum). I can't think of a more obvious metaphor than using warehouses to store/process people. ICE must be abolished.

This semester I am collecting a small report on the in-class work my students are doing, every day, as a basis for a participation grade. I give each student an index card for this purpose. My chair, observing my class, asked if I would give him a card as well. I guess he just wanted a souvenir?

TECHNICALLY it's snowing, here outside Savannah, GA. Smallish flakes. Not very many of them. And, as yet, no accumulation. Still, it's been a while since I watched snow fall.

Merry Christmas to you all, bringers of joy, humor, whimsy, and thoughtfulness to my skyline.

Solstice. Gratitude for a bright, dry day here. Relief at the prospect of lengthening days. Hopeful in the restoration to be brought by a fallow season.

50 pages into Emily Tesh's THE INCANDESCENT. Very much hooked. Can y'all think of other academic novels (SFF or otherwise) that are both told from the perspective of a faculty member and set at a secondary school? Seems to me that overlap is underpopulated.

On @emmanewman.bsky.social's podcast episode for day 18 of Advent she's just mentioned "the end of the autumn sowing season" and I, despite all contextual information to the contrary, have misheard it as "sewing season." (This also runs my mind off to "The Soote Season.") Is sowing like sewing?

The rosemary in the pot pie in the oven is wafting its fragrance throughout the house, feeding my soul while my belly rumbles.

Sunlight and cloud cover are absolutely pulling for opposing goals here this morning. Indoors I have lit the lights and begun putting some metaphorical potential energy into my plans for the day and the week. Time to light candles for hope and peace.

This is not just another anti-AI tirade. It's thoughtful, wide-ranging, and devastating. Having read it, I weep. "The real tragedy [is] that universities are teaching everyone—students, faculty, administrators—to stop thinking. We’re outsourcing discernment."

I give thanks for the comforts and companionships in which I am nested. The sun shines brightly in a clear blue sky; moths and butterflies flutter about; dinner rolls are baking; I frolicked this morning in a driveway filled with crunchy leaves; and I can look forward to a dinner with friends.

Unable to muster a reason not to, for the second time this week, go to bed before 7 p.m. (It's 5:40 and I am exhausted. Also a bit loopy, as "the sun has gone to bed and so must I" is earworming me despite there still being light in the west.) Goodnight, Skyline.

Today I got to read part of a draft of a doctoral dissertation. It's a privilege to offer thoughts on the work in progress and a gift to be so beautifully reminded of the intricacies of long-form scholarship.

This is INCREDIBLY important. Yesterday, four times, I called the roll for the first class meeting of the semester. I apologized beforehand that it was likely I would get somebody's name wrong. How is SF not doing ANYTHING to pay even a minimum of respect to our nominees?

Woke up. Brushed teeth. Read news. Discovered I'm under a boil water notice. Briefly considered whether I should be replacing morning coffee with something alcoholic to ... clean the unboiled toothbrushing water from my mouth? Laughed at myself. Went back to my coffee. (Cold brewed earlier.)

In no particular order: Climate vulnerability. ICE. Genocide. War. AI boosterism. Attacks on universities. Book bans. Defunding humanitarian aid. Transphobia. Queerphobia. DOGE. Racism. Dehumanizing immigrants. "MAHA". 2025 has a lot going against it. Today I'll try to be part of the solution.

My heart wants to bake bread. The rest of me is aware that it was 75°F at dawn and the heat index is forecast to hit 110 today. When I left California it was after a week of daytime highs above 110. It's true what they say about a dry heat. (110°F is about 43°C)

This chapter isn't going to write itself.

RT = endorsement

In which she has, as ever, misjudged the relative time to bring to boil the pressure canner and the produce to be canned.