Warm again this morning. I need to start my run sooner. I heard the coxswain below instructing the rowers, but I forget to look for them as I ran down the franklin hill. I don’t remember looking at the river at all. Did I? I was too distracted by people — bikers, runners, walkers.
Best part of the run: heading down the hill, feeling good, someone else running up the hill called out, looking strong! I called back, you too! Her words made me feel good and even stronger. Such a kind gesture. I started thinking again about these small exchanges and how they give us the chance to be both an I (who recognizes) and a you (who is recognized).
Listened to rowers, birds, and cheering runners as I ran north. Listened to Hamilton on my headphones on the way back south. it’s a blur sir
wordle challenge
6 tries (with a hint from FWA): chirp / doubt / smoke / flank / wagon / KAZOO
In the morning
when the birds chirp doubt goes up in smoke delight outflanks grief and regret hitches a wagon ride out of town. Only the faint buzz of his kazoo lingers then joins in the cardinal chorus.
swim: 2.5 big loops (5 little loops) cedar lake open swim 88 degrees
The first open swim at cedar! Wonderful. The water wasn’t too choppy or cold. Everyone was (mostly) swimming the right way. No leg cramps or worry about swimming off course.
10 Things
the beach was packed with people
the water, which is usually clear here, was opaque
a few silver flashes below me — fish?
stopping near the beach for a minute, I looked down in the water and saw shafts of light
itchy vines, floating into me
I swam over one vine floating horizontally and it felt like I was getting a full body scan
many of the vines were attached — at both beaches I swam through a thick forest of underwater vegetation
no buoys, only lifeguards on kayaks set up in the middle of the lake, which was no problem for sighting (at least for me)
2 different paddleboarders crossed right in front of me
birds flying over the lake above me — I couldn’t tell how big they were
Nice to be home and able to run this loop after a few days away, moving a parent out of an apartment in one city and into another in another city. Wasn’t sure how it would feel to run up the marshall hill, but it wasn’t too bad. I remember noticing things as I ran, but now I can’t remember what I noticed, except —
screeching bluejays, leaves on trees shivering in the wind, voices floating up from the gorge, sparkling river water, a sandbar emerging from just below the lake street bridge. Bikers, walkers, runners
almost getting hit by a bike (my fault) — not sure how close it was; my body didn’t tense up in panic, so I’m guessing it wasn’t that close. It happened because my eyes/brain can only see one thing at a time and I was distracted by some stopped bikers who looked like they were going to cross, but weren’t. Why weren’t they crossing, I wondered, thinking maybe there was a car that I couldn’t see (it’s happened before).
a shell with 2 rowers on the river, the bells at St. Thomas chiming nine times, sprinklers, tree roots, hard-packed dirt, almost losing my balance on the edge of the east river trail but managing to stay on the path, looking strange to anyone who might have seen me, I’m sure
Listened to birds, voices, my breath for most of the ran. Put in a Bruno Mars playlist for the last mile.
wordle challenge
4 tries: tough / beach / march / ranch
tough: and the grass was as tough as hemp and no color no more than sand was a color(I Remember/ Anne Sexton)
Did a quick run in Austin with Scott that ended at The Coffee Place in downtown Austin, across from the SPAM museum. Ran past: the cemetery with Scott’s mom’s grave, the mill pond (I think it’s called the mill pond), the Plantar’s Peanut Mobile parked by a chain-link fence, I-90, and a lot of other things I can’t remember. It was smoky from wildfires in the Boundary Waters and cooler than I expected.
The things I remember most about this morning were not the run, but: the reconstituted eggs (yuck!) at the hotel breakfast buffet, watching bits of a few episodes of Living Single, and the phone call from the doctor telling Scott that his dad was being released from the hospital much earlier than expected. Instant decision: instead of going home, which was our plan, we drove over to Rochester and loaded up a car with a mattress and bed frame, then drove to Scott’s dad’s new assisted living apartment in the twin cities to drop it off. Then drove back to Rochester (60 miles) and loaded the car up again. Mayo Hospital had led us to believe he wouldn’t be released until the following week. I am not a fan of Mayo (and never have been) — they may be good at curing unusual diseases but they suck at caring for actual people. Boo to arrogant doctors. Boo to prioritizing fancy buildings over the needs of community members. Boo to insurance companies that pressure hospitals into releasing patients too soon.
Wordle Challenge
note: I didn’t have time to do the wordle challenge this morning, so these words are from the next day when I didn’t run.
4 tries: flash / waxes / apron / STRAP
a flash of white the moon grows and shrinks waxes and wanes all in an instant as an apron of clouds travels across the sky sometimes the clouds appear as soft cover and sometimes they seem to conceal and subdue, each thick layer of vapor a strap securing the moon to the sky
note: I’d like to replace one of the skies with something else — I’ll think about it some more
revision, 18 june 2023
A flash of white grows and shrinks waxes and wanes all in an instant as an apron of dark clouds travels across.
Sometimes the clouds offer soft cover and sometimes they conceal and subdue each thick layer of vapor a strap securing the moon to the sky
Ran on the dirt trail between edmund and the river road heading south, then down to the winchell trail for the way back. A good run where I mostly ran slow with a few stretches of fast.
Listened to the water dripping, the cars gently whooshing, giant mowing machines whirring on the way south and for most of the winchell trail north. Put in Lizzo for the last mile.
9 Things I Noticed
the water was blue when I had a clear view and a blinding, shining white through the gaps in the trees
another friendly exchange and shift from I to You when I thanked a pedestrian for moving over for me: Thank you! You’re welcome!
couldn’t hear the water dripping below 42nd because of the dizz dizz dizz of a giant machine up above
the same almost fallen branches, leaning over the winchell trail
rowers! never saw them, but heard the coxswain prepping them on what to do in a race
lots of cars steadily and gently moving north on the river road
birds birds birds — didn’t see them, only heard them
wet dirt on the trail — was it dew or did it rain last night?
lots of bikers and walkers — less runners, no roller skiers
Cool-ish this morning. Sunny, a little wind. Good running weather. If I had gone out when Scott did, at 7, it would have been great running weather. It was in the 50s then.
As I ran north towards the franklin bridge, I suddenly wondered, have I run the franklin loop since the snow melted, when I could run on the walking path? I didn’t think so. [I was right; I looked it up and my last franklin loop run was april 6th.]
Running over franklin bridge, the river was blue with flecks of silver that I could barely see from behind the railing. Not a single rowing shell. No big paddleboats either.
Running over the lake street bridge, I didn’t really look at the river. Instead I watched a worker in his orange and yellow vest standing by the railing. What was he doing? It took me a little time to put the scene together: the worker was standing at the railing on one side of the sidewalk. On the other side of the wall, parked on the road part of the bridge was a truck with an arm that reached above our heads and over the edge of the bridge. I assume someone was in the bucket below. My first thought: are they inspecting the bridge and is it about to collapse? As I got closer to the worker, the truck, and the arm, I saw another guy standing near the truck. He seemed to be letting the first guy know when it was clear (meaning, after I had passed by). Why write this tedious description? Partly to demonstrate how my vision works. I imagine a normally sighted person could take this entire scene in with one or two glances. I have to stare for 20 or 30 seconds at least, slowly putting together what I see. As best as I can remember, here was my thought process:
hmm….that guy up ahead has a bright orange and yellow safety vest on.
Does he work for the city, or is he some random walker being extra careful?
Is he taking a break, admiring the view, or doing something else?
He’s not peeing off the side, is he? No, of course not.
Oh, there’s an arm from a truck reaching over — they’re working on the bridge!
Can I run by, or do I need to turn around?
I’m sure many people have some of these thoughts, but if you can see “normally” they probably come all at once and are answered almost instantly. My thoughts come slowly and sometimes get stuck.
wordle challenge
3 tries: first/ drown/ wrong
the first time she almost drowned, she knew something was wrong. First, drown the mushrooms in white wine. There’s no wrong way to do it.
When you first jump into very cold water it might feel like you’re drowning. A shock, a heaviness, panic. Something seems wrong. It is.
at first, a burst in a gown, you might drown any song with a gong will be wrong
There was an old lady on first whose cheesecake was always the worst she’d bake it so long that the texture was wrong and all of the berries would burst
first burst worst rehearse reverse cursed drown down frown renown found clown town crown wrong song long bong gong along oblong elongate
There was an old lady on first who always believed she was cursed convinced she would drown at the hands of a clown she wandered the streets in a hearse
The lady on first was so cruel she drowned all her cats in the pool her heart, it was wrong it sang a bad song and tasted like boarding school gruel
Like yesterday, I could spend a lot more time with these words, trying to come up with something, but I’ll stop for now.
Another run with sore legs. I ran all the way up the marshall hill without stopping to walk. Didn’t stop to walk until I got back to the bridge. Then I put in a playlist.
10 Things I Noticed
2 tiny dogs in a fenced-in yard a few blocks from my house barking tiny, yippy, delightful barks
waveless water — no ripples or sparkles, flat and blue
heading east: no rowers
returning west: at least one rowing shell, far off to the south
equal numbers of runners, bikers, and walkers (last week it was mostly bikers)
the soft trickling of water at shadow falls
voices below in the gorge, voices behind slowly approaching
rounding a corner near minnehaha academy: a refreshing sprinkler/mister!
at the top of the hill, near summit, a graduation party already in full swing at 8:45 am
lots of birds making noise — can’t remember any one bird, just birds
No roller skiers or radios. No brightly colored running shirts (but several runners without a shirt). No honking geese or drumming woodpeckers or floating cottonwood fuzz or gnats.
Yesterday I forgot to mention that I saw someone on a unicycle! At first I thought the biker was just really tall. Nope, he was on a unicycle. Nice.
wordle challenge
5 tries — mouth/ready/blank/gnaws/again
empty, again
your mouth may be ready but your mind is blank. A hunger for words gnaws at your throat.
A good run, but a hard run. Stopped at the overlook near ford bridge, almost 4 miles in to admire the river — blue and still. No rowers or waves or river boats. After my stop, I ran for a few minutes, walked for a few the rest of the way. By the end, my legs were sore — not like I had an injury, but like I should have drank more water or eaten more food before I left.
overheard
was this really what I heard/saw?
a walker talking to another walker: it was because she was so flat! as she said the word flat she gestured with her hands like she was demonstrating a flat chest.
wordle challenge
june 7: 4 tries —
bread orbit grubs crumb
The bread will be on the table The moon will orbit the earth The grubs will become beetles The crumb will be carried away by the ant.
If bread is to butter as orbit is to center and grubs are to beetles to whom does the crumb belong?
Each face in the street is a slice of bread (W.S. Merwin) a previously undiscovered moon orbiting a planet (dear, beloved/ sumita chakraborty) grubs without a voice (millennium, six songs/ marilyn chin) the crumbs of shadow (Sylvia Plath), the crumbling of elemental rust (Emily Dickinson
june 8: 5 tries
reach waist pansy salsa balsa
To reach my waist the pansy will need to grow taller than this salsa bowl made from balsa wood
as I reach the edge of the garden my waist brushes against the tall grass as a yellow pansy stares with its sad purple eyes. Through the kitchen window, I see my sister cutting jalapenos for a salsa my mom improvising popsicle sticks from leftover balsa wood
3.1 miles trestle turn around 72 degrees dew point: 61
Ran with Scott this morning. Another warm, thick, still morning. We followed Scott’s getting-back-into-running training plan: run 15 minutes, walk 2, run 15 minutes. Our walk started right by the trestle. My left hip felt a little stiff, my left knee harder to lift at the beginning, but I mostly felt fine. My big right toe isn’t hurting anymore.
10 Things I Noticed
birds, 1: several little birds on the path, reluctant to fly away, forcing a biker to slow down
birds, 2: more of these little birds — sparrows? finches? — stopped right in front of me a few minutes later
the white bike — a memorial for some biker killed by a car years ago — hanging upsdie down under the trestle
green green green
cottonwood fuzz lining the sides of the path, a pale green, looking like corroded copper to me
a few puddles of water near the sidewalk edges — did it rain last night, or had nearby grass been watered?
hi dave! hi sara! hi scott! I was impressed that Dave the Daily Walker remembered Scott’s name, so was he
only 1 or 2 small rocks stacked on the ancient boulder
the cracks in the paved trail that they just redid 2 years ago are spreading and deepening, splitting the trail in two. I made note of a small hole that I’ll need to remember to avoid next time I run this way
a woman in a BRIGHT pink shirt and BRIGHT green pants — wow! I wonder if this is the same woman in the BRIGHT pink pants the other day?
No bugs, no roller skiers, no view of the river. No music, no packs of runners, no irritating encounters. No rowers, no overheard conversations, no drumming woodpeckers.
today’s wordle challenge
3 tries / wrong place SCOUT
Here a few “poems” with these words:
They call her wrong place scout because she always seems to find the place no one was looking for (or wanted).
wrong place scout
I was in the wrong place but it must have been the right time I had found the wrong camp but stumbled on the right line I was near the wrong guy but he must have said the right words He led me through the wrong door but out into the right world.
There is no wrong place to be when you are scouting mystery.
I forgot about the dark bird I saw rooting in the hydrangeas looking like it landed in the wrong place until today when I learned about the purple martin scout and decided that that was what it was.
Even though the finished products of this wordle challenge aren’t the greatest, the experiment was fun to do. I thought about different meanings of scout and listened to/studied the lyrics of Dr. John’s “Right Place, Wrong Time.” I also learned about purple martins and remembered a strange bird I watched in my back yard the other day. Bonus: I became aware of the existence of “Minnesota’s Largest Purple Martin House” in Audubon, Minnesota. Wow.
Here’s a water poem that is by one of my favorite poets and will be etched on NASA’s Europa clipper as it travels to study one of Jupiter’s moons:
Hot, thick, very poor air quality. There’s a warning about the bad air until midnight: “fine particle pollution” from wild fires in Quebec. I don’t think it really bothered me as I ran.
I ran south on the dirt trail in the grass between edmund and the river road, crossed over to the trail, then headed down to the southern entrance of the Winchell Trail. Ran north until 38th, took the steps up, returned to trail past the ravine, through the tunnel of trees, then crossed over the edmund at 33rd.
Listened to cars whooshing by, kids heading to school, water sprinkling out of the sewer pipe for the first 2 miles. Listened to a Bruno Mars playlist for the last mile.
Before the run, I was thinking about water and The Odyssey — I was reading it all weekend — and how much Odysseus and his men ache for home. And I was imagining how restless they’ll be if and when they get home and stay for too long. Restlessness and staying reminded me of a few things:
Mary Oliver’s restless water and her satisfied stones in The Leaf and the Cloud:
It is the nature of stone to be satisfied. It is the nature of water to want to be somewhere else.
Ennui The latest trend among those trapped in a post-pandemic plane is to neigh with horsey impatience softly scream into a skein of restlessness
The Horse Girls trending: on the plane between child and young adult wild neigh and reserved whinny they skein obsessions out of their edgy ennui OR out of their ennui
So, I started the run with all of these thoughts still lingering. Within a mile, I started thinking more about restlessness and water. At the end of the run, I pulled out my smart phone and recorded some of those thoughts:
june 5, 2023
transcript: June 5. Just finished my 2 trails run, a 5K. Today I was thinking about restlessness and water and the idea that usually water is restless, constantly moving. But today, in this thick humid morning with haze and poor air quality, it is everything else that is restless, and the water that refuses to move. The river stills. The sweat hovers on my chin, refusing to fall, to bring relief. We are restless: the cars, impatient, as they move past me on the road. Even my legs, as I try to run down hills, refuse to move with any speed. Contrast between the restless and the still.
I remember looking at the river and seeing haze. The only water that was moving at all was the water steadily dripping out of the sewer pipe.
Another thing I just remembered from before my run: I briefly thought about a vision poem I encountered last week and have wanted to post here. Today’s the day!
Because my husband is going slowly blind, the lights in our house have motion sensors. As I walk through the rooms I am the star of the show, lit one-by-one by spotlights as I go. Desiring the dark, I must sit motionless. One itch, one twitch, and up come the houselights, rendering me suddenly—again—audience of me.
Tonight we are sitting in the dark beside the Christmas tree. Its strands of blinking lights remind my husband of his childhood, when he could see. I find it funny they don’t remind him of the blinking lights that ring the edges of his eye field, proof of his rods and cones one-by-one dying. Not ha-ha funny, the other kind.
There are things ha-ha funny about going blind though. Like that time he walked wearing a three-piece wool suit into the deep end of a swimming pool in a hotel in Italy. I wasn’t there—he told me later. I was at home, turning lights on and off through only my anxious pacing.
Sitting by the Christmas tree, I squeeze my husband’s hand—squeeze and release, squeeze and release—my hand blinking in his. It’s such a tiny motion the sensors don’t detect it. Someday my husband will sit in the dark and wave his arms wildly and still be in the dark. One-by-one every- thing happens, every disappearance appears.
Ran with Scott. Another hot, sunny morning. After a few minutes of warming up, I recited the latest poem I memorized for my list of 100 poems: Tony Hoagland’s “Summer Studies.” Later, near the end of the run, I recited 2 Emily Dickinson poems, “I felt a cleaving in my Mind” and “Hope is a thing with feathers.” Reciting the poems, then talking about them a little, helped distract us from our sweaty effort.
The big event of the run that Scott wanted to make sure I mentioned was the set-to between a small pileated woodpecker and a squirrel. We heard the squeak of a bird, then some rustling of leaves, then I saw a furry darting streak in the tree. Who won, I wonder? And why were they fighting?
Other bird events: A female cardinal flew out in front of Scott just as he was running around a tree ahead of me. I saw him flinch, but not the whirr of the brown bird in flight. A band or scold or screech of blue jays shrieked out across the grass between edmund and the river road, which prompted us to have a conversation about how much better crows are then blue jays. No turkeys in turkey hollow.
We ran past the house on edmund that posts a poem in the front window. A new one about sunflowers! I can’t remember what it’s called, or who wrote it. I’ll just have to run by the house again to figure it out. I don’t have strong opinions about sunflowers. Maybe that’s because I hardly ever see them.
Looking for water poems, I found something else, beside a water poem:
After our run, walking Delia the dog, Scott and I talked about Wordle, which I just recently started playing. I told him about my morning routine: a quick look at Facebook, then re-memorize a few poems, read the poem of the day at 3 poetry sites, then wordle. He suggested I try a new experiment: write a poem every day for a month inspired by the wordle that day:
The number of lines = the number of tries I have to make Each line must include the word that I guessed possible bonus = the theme of the poem is the correct word
Today: 4 tries: farce blame beads beast
What a farce to blame the sun for the beads on your brow you, beast, were born to sweat.
I don’t really like this, but it’s a start. Maybe I’ll add one more rule: a 5 minute time limit?