Tag: headphones

dec 8/RUN

5k
43rd ave, north/edmund, south/loop around Howe
31 degrees/90% humidity

So humid this morning. The moisture in the air didn’t bother my skin or my breathing, only my eyes. Difficult to see. No problems recognizing objects, but it felt like I was looking at everything through a thin veil. Strange. My lower back on the left side–the usual spot–was sore for the first mile. My body is ready for a break. I just need to make it for a few more weeks. Less than 40 miles to reach my goal. After I warmed up, it was a nice run. Here’s a few things I remember:

  • The upper campus (high schoolers) at Minnehaha Academy seems to be closed for in-person school; the parking to was almost empty
  • Hardly anyone out walking or running or biking
  • Couldn’t see the river–I was too far away, but could see the air above it and the possibility of the river below, if that makes any sense
  • I got to greet Dave, the Daily Walker! “Hey Dave!” “Hi Sara. It’s been a long time.” What a nice surprise. He was dressed in black today.
  • Saw a house with a blown-up Darth Vader with candy canes + a minion + Olaf from Frozen+ Mickey Mouse. Wow

Recited several of the door poems I memorized this summer: “I dwell in possibility” “Praying” and “I Remember.” When I finished, I recorded myself reciting “I Remember” by Anne Sexton.

I Remember by Anne Sexton/ 8 December

I got almost all of the words right. A few errors that made the poem seem clunkier–a was instead of is, an extra that, days instead of times. It is fascinating to listen back to myself and see the mistakes I don’t realize I’m making. Favorite lines: “the grass was as tough as hemp” and “we wore our bare feet bare since the 20th of June” and “while the sun blew out of sight like a red picture hat” and those invisible snoring beetles! I love them.

dec 7/RUN

3.2 miles
turkey hollow
32 degrees/86% humidity

No sun this morning but also not much wind or people. No snow on the ground or on the path. A great morning for a run! No turkey at turkey hollow but plenty of kids yelling joyfully at the school playground–Minnehaha Academy is still having in-person classes. Ran right above the river on the trail but I don’t remember looking down at the river even once. Did I? I remember looking out to the other side, the St. Paul side, and hearing a strange buzzing sound across the gorge. It was not a leaf blower but a saw or something that grinds or chips or cuts. I remember noticing the bare mesa and the leafless trees in the oak savanna and the chain on the 38th street stairs closing them off for the winter. I remember glancing down at the Winchell Trail between 42nd and 44th and briefly considering taking it. I remember thinking the hill on 47th, just past turkey hollow, seemed steeper today.

Delight of the Day: Geese!

Running on Edmund right by Dowling Elementary I heard some honking. Geese! Flying above me, not too high. As I ran, I tipped my baseball cap up and craned my neck to watch them. I imagine they were calling to me, like Mary Oliver’s wild geese, harsh and exciting, announcing my place in the family of things.

This morning, before going out for my run, I re-memorized Rita Dove’s “Voiceover.” Then, while running, I recited it in my head. Finally, within a minute of finishing my run, when my heart rate was probably 160 or 170, I recorded myself reciting it into my phone. Not perfect, but not too many mistakes. Such a fun way to run. I have missed reciting while running!

Voiceover by Rita Dove/ 7 December

Favorite passage today (even though I didn’t get it quite right in the recording):

It likes a dream when a voice whispers
Open wide and you do but it’s not your mouth anymore
because now you’re all throat
a tunnel skewered by air.
And so you rewind and this time
when you open wide, you’re standing
outside your skin, looking down
at the damage, leaning in close…
about to dive back into your body
and then you wake up.

When I was doing this reciting while running project in the spring/summer, I also mentioned this: I memorize the words, but not the punctuation or the line breaks so when I try to write out my memorized poems, I don’t always get those right. Is it just me? Are other people able to memorize everything? Is it important to do so? I’m sure it changes the poem, but is that a problem?

Covid Cases: 350,000 MN/ 14.76 million (US)
Covid Deaths: 4,000 MN/ 282,375 (US)*

*I use my run and being outside and memorizing poems and getting lost in words and making note of daily delights as a way to endure this terrible, unbelievable time. Such shocking numbers and, while there’s hope with the vaccine, there’s also a lot of death and suffering still to come. Mostly, I’m doing okay but I worry about the toll of all this fear and anxiety and stress on my body–on all of our bodies. What new diseases and disorders will we develop from all of this?

dec 1/RUN

3.05 miles
43rd ave, north/32nd st, west/river road trail, south/42nd st, west/edmund, north
18 degrees/feels like 10

Colder today than yesterday, which was already pretty cold for most–and too cold for Scott. Love it! Less people, fresher air, a feeling of accomplishment from just getting out the door and braving the cold. Beautiful sun. Not warm, but giving the illusion of warmth and making the frost on the field at Cooper School look enchanted, almost like fairy dust or the aftermath of a glitter bomb.

Running down 32nd towards the river, I noticed a lone black glove on the sidewalk. Saw some people across the street and almost called out to them, “excuse me! did you drop a glove?” I didn’t. Why is the lone glove I see on the sidewalk always black? Do I just notice the black ones, or are most gloves that color? Have I ever seen any other color of glove left behind? I don’t think so. When (and if) I do, I will make a ridiculously big deal about it on this log, which makes me happy that I have been able to find delight and joy in such small things. Finding a blue (or red or pink) glove when I usually find a black one is enough for me.

Delight of the Day, or Today’s Reason for Joy

One: the river, again. Glowing, shimmering, flashing. The light didn’t bother me, but I could feel it reflecting off of my face.

Two: A male black-capped chickadee! I heard the feebee call this morning as I ran south. It was almost drowned out by all the crows, but I’m sure I heard it. Normally, I only notice these in the spring. Ever since I read that they sing all winter, I’ve been listening harder for them and today it paid off!

Anything else? Was able to keep plenty of distance between me and the few people out on the trail. Encountered only 1 bike. Again, no roller skiers.

layers

green shirt, pink jacket, gray jacket, 2 pairs of black running tights, 2 pairs of socks, pink headband, black baseball cap, hood, buff, 2 pairs of gloves

layers lost: buff started on my ears and mouth, ended around my neck, hood down, took off one pair of gloves during mile 2

What Things Want/ Robert Bly – 1926-

You have to let things
Occupy their own space.
This room is small,
But the green settee

Likes to be here.
The big marsh reeds,
Crowding out the slough,
Find the world good.

You have to let things
Be as they are.
Who knows which of us
Deserves the world more?

Love this poem by Minnesota poet Robert Bly and completely agree with the idea that “You have to let things/Be as they are.”

Almost forgot. I posted my Mood Rings chapbook on my writing site! Very proud of the work I have done with these poems.

nov 28/RUN

3 miles
neighborhood
36 degrees
COVID cases: 295,001 (MN)/ 13.1 million (US)
COVID deaths: 3,476 (MN)/ 264,977 (US)

More sun today. Very nice after the gloom even if it makes it harder to see other people. Thankfully, I hardly encountered anyone with my meandering sidewalk route. Very nice. Ran with my shadow for at least part of the time. Tried to go slower, but it was hard; I still went much faster in my second and third miles. Don’t remember hearing any roller skiers or seeing any fat tires. No big groups of runners or bikers or walkers. Never got close enough to see the river. No geese or turkeys or squirrels. I do remember hearing a runner calling out to someone about how it was a nice day for a run. Anything else? I smelled the smoke near Edmund and 38th. Is that coming from a chimney or fire pit in someone’s yard or the gorge?

Just heard on the radio that the high today is 54. Nice! I think I’ll sit on the deck or the front steps sometime today. Yesterday I sat on the front steps and heard a black capped chickadee. I’ll take these small delights in the midst of the scary news about uncontrolled spread of COVID-19.

Praise Song for the Day/ ELIZABETH ALEXANDER

A Poem for Barack Obama’s Presidential Inauguration

Each day we go about our business,
walking past each other, catching each other’s
eyes or not, about to speak or speaking.

All about us is noise. All about us is
noise and bramble, thorn and din, each
one of our ancestors on our tongues.

Someone is stitching up a hem, darning
a hole in a uniform, patching a tire,
repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere,
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum,
with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky.
A teacher says, Take out your pencils. Begin.

We encounter each other in words, words
spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed,
words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark
the will of some one and then others, who said
I need to see what’s on the other side.

I know there’s something better down the road.
We need to find a place where we are safe.
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain: that many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges,

picked the cotton and the lettuce, built
brick by brick the glittering edifices
they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle, praise song for the day.
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,
the figuring-it-out at kitchen tables.

Some live by love thy neighbor as thyself,
others by first do no harm or take no more
than you need. What if the mightiest word is love?

Love beyond marital, filial, national,
love that casts a widening pool of light,
love with no need to pre-empt grievance.

In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air,
any thing can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp,

praise song for walking forward in that light.

Oh this poem! “What if the mightiest word is love?” “love with no need to pre-empt grievance.” “today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air” “on the brink, on the brim, on the cusp”, and “we walk into that which we cannot yet see”.

nov 26/RUN

7K (4.3 miles)
franklin loop
34 degrees

For our annual Thanksgiving morning run, Scott and I decided to do the Franklin loop. On the way there, we stopped at his favorite spot right above the river road and the Franklin bridge. I was going to embed the photo from instagram but I can’t do that–why can’t I do that anymore? Oh well, here’s the link: Scott and Sara’s 7K

Things I Remember

  • mostly people who cared and who tried to keep distance, a few who did not–the people in the tunnel at Brackett Park, the runners who took over the narrow lake street bridge and barely moved
  • the soft, fuzzy (or furry?) browns of the leafless treeline, the pale blue of the river, the white sunless sky
  • yard signs: Dogs for Biden, Cats for Biden
  • discovering another street to take instead of the sometimes crowded path on the St. Paul side
  • easy relaxed run with a conversation–what did we talk about? Do I remember any of it? Not sure but that’s okay
  • running on the sidewalk by the fancy houses on the east river road
  • running by a less fancy house, hearing a noise, and playing one of my new favorite games: is it a … or a …? Today’s: is it a heater or a vacuum cleaner? Last week’s: is it a chainsaw or a leaf blower?

(from 27 nov) last night and this morning, I remembered a few more things from yesterday’s run I’d like to add:

  • running in the road to avoid people on the sidewalk, noticing the terrible condition of the asphalt. So many cracks and craters and dangerous divots!
  • the trees on the edge of the boulevard leaving precariously towards the street
  • at least 2 different groups of people thanking us for running in the street and giving them distance
  • a good omen: standing at Scott’s favorite spot on the hill above the river road near the franklin bridge, hearing the distinctive clicking and clacking of a roller skier’s ski poles
  • seeing (and counting) so many bright yellow shirts on bikers, one dark gray shirt with a thick horizontal yellow stripe
  • hearing about Scott’s idea for a meta Christmas song: structured like the 12 days of christmas, about the 12 things that must be in all christmas songs
  • admiring the majestic lion statues on pedestals–or, on plinths? I love the word plinth–in front of a equally majestic house, right above the public sidewalk
  • the house that was so big we couldn’t tell right away if it were a house or an apartment and that had a crappy plastic storage shed near one side

nov 23/RUN

3.15 miles
turkey hollow
26 degrees

I was able to run by the gorge today! Sunny, calm, not too cold. What a wonderful morning to be outside! Watched the river come into view as I ran above the oak savanna. Admired the water glowing through the tall, leafless trees. Appreciated how the pedestrians I encountered kept their distance. Running by turkey hollow, I forgot to check for turkeys. Yesterday afternoon, when we drove by, RJP pointed them out. Were they there today? Not sure. Saw my shadow several times. When she was running ahead of me, her hands looked strange–maybe that was because my gloves were only partially on?

I don’t remember hearing any birds or music coming from radios or the clicking and clacking of ski poles. No dogs barking deep in the gorge or mysterious rustling in the brush. No gushing water–well, except for from the manhole at 38th and Edmund. No traffic or honking or loud conversations. No wind chimes or laughing kids. I do remember hearing a loud truck up above near the Ford Bridge, and a car approaching from somewhere behind me–on the river road or edmund? I heard some clanging and assumed, without being able to see, that the person on the other side of the boulevard was walking a dog. Near Folwell there was a lot of pounding and buzzing from a nail gun as workers repaired a roof.

The only other things I remember are thinking that this was run was wonderful and that my right knee was okay and that it was also hard and I would be glad when I reached the place where I could stop.

Phrases I Dislike that are Overused on Facebook and Twitter

A few weeks ago, I started a list of phrases that people use on social media that irritate me. Since I added one more this morning, I thought I’d post them here:

  • Louder for the people in the back
  • Thank you for attending my TED talk
  • I was today years old when…
  • I don’t know who needs to hear this but …
  • chef’s kiss
  • Starting the tweet with “welp!”
  • People who, when responding to a tweet that asks, “What are you reading this week?” respond: “this tweet”

Just had a thought about this last one. My first reaction when I encounter the response, “this tweet,” is: do you really think this is clever or that a dozen other people haven’t already said this? But what if the person who tweets this knows it’s stupid and has just decided that it is necessary for at least one person to always tweet this, that the thread is not complete unless this tired joke has been made and that they are the person who must always do it. There’s a story there, I think, or at least a character detail or an aside to a story.

nov 19/RUN

4 miles (1 with FWA, 3 by myself)
river road trail + turkey hollow
46 degrees

FWA had to run for online gym class this morning, so we went out together. Yes! I always enjoy getting to run with him even if we do more walking than running. As we ran + walked, we smelled a lot of things: meat, soap, almost burnt toast, thawing half-mulched leaves. FWA recounted a childhood memory of tasting blueberry syrup and hating it so much that we never wanted to return to the restaurant where he tried it. I’m not sure I’ve ever tasted blueberry syrup but I imagine it’s gross. After dropping FWA back off at home, I went out for another run. We had run north, to I went south. Such a wonderful time to be running above the river! All the leaves gone, so much view! Hardly any wind, some sun. No ice, not too many people. For most of my run, I listened to the sounds around me but for the last mile I turned on a playlist and tuned everything else out.

For a short stretch of time after the election, I enjoyed checking the news. Now, it’s time to avoid it again. I believe in December when the electoral college meets, this will all be worked out. Until then I can’t get sucked into the daily shit show of contesting results, lawsuits, threats of violence, etc. Instead, I’ll spend more time by the gorge and with poems like this:

In the Evening/ William Reichard

The night air is filled
with the scent of apples,
and the moon is nearly full.

In the next room, Jim
is reading; a small cat sleeps
in the crook of his arm.

The night singers are loud,
proclaiming themselves
every evening until they run

out of nights and die in
the cold, or burrow down into
the mud to dream away the winter.

My office is awash in books
and photographs, and the sepia/pink
sunset stains all its light touches.

I’ve never been a good traveler,
but there are days, like this one,
when I’d pay anything to be in

another country, or standing on
the cold, grey moon, staring back
at the disaster we call our world.

We crave change, but
turn away from it.
We drown in contradictions.

Tonight, I’ll sleep
blanketed in moonlight.
In my dreams, I’ll have

nothing to say about anything
important. I’ll simply live my life,
and let the night singers live theirs,

until all of us are gone.
I won’t say a word, and let
silence speak in my stead.

I like the simple, graceful form of this poem, how it flows, and how it captures and expresses so many contradictions. I’d like to try out this form in some poem about the gorge.

nov 18/RUN

3.15 miles
43rd ave, north/lake street, west + bridge/edmund, south/37th st, west
39 degrees
wind: 14 mph (26 mph gusts)
COVID-19 cases: 236,949 (MN) 11,369,504 (US)
COVID-19 deaths: 2,943 (MN) 248,824 (US)*

*I haven’t put up the COVID numbers since spring. Scary how much they’ve grown and how much illness/death we get used to

A little warmer today so only one long-sleeved shirt and a vest + tights and a headband covering my ears. The right number of layers. Ran to lake street and didn’t encounter a single pedestrian–was it the wind? the alarming escalation of covid cases? Ran onto the lake street bridge and admired the beautifully blueish gray river with the snowy banks and bare branches. Wow, what a calming wonderful view! Made it halfway and decided, after seeing some people up ahead that I didn’t want to encounter on this narrow bridge and battling too hard with the wind and my cap that wanted to fly away, that I would turn around. Ran through the parking lot of Minnehaha Academy–a full lot of students and teachers–and past the aspen eyes. One of them was watching me. Smelled the longfellow grill, which didn’t make me hungry, breakfast food hardly ever does. Felt like I was running into the wind almost every direction I went. Thought about nothing and everything. I think I saw the Daily Walker at the end of my run, but I wasn’t sure and he was up ahead so I didn’t want to yell out and startle him.

Encountered this moving poem on twitter yesterday by Katie Farris. She wrote one of my favorite green poems–What Would Root. So sad to read a few months ago that she has breast cancer. What a poem!

In the Event of My Death/ Katie Farris

What used to be
a rope descending
my vertebrae to the basement
of my spine
grows thin.

In solidarity with my chemotherapy,
our cat leaves her whiskers on
the hardwood floor,
and I gather them, each pure white parenthesis
and plant them
in the throat of the earth.

In quarantine,
I learned to trim your barbarian
hair. Now it stands always on end:
a salute to my superior barbary skills. In the event
of my death, promise you will find my heavy braid
and bury it–

I will need a rope
to let me down into the earth.
I’ve hidden others
strategically around the globe, a net
to catch my body
in the wearing.

The rope descending to the basement of the spine, the pure white parenthesis of a cat’s whiskers, the throat of the earth, the ropes buried around the world to offer a way down into the earth. Wow.

Current COVID mood: some hope (over vaccines and a new president soon) mixed with fear (terrifying increase in number of cases) and anger/disgust (over assholes not taking this virus seriously).

nov 16/RUN

3.15 miles
river road trail, south/42nd st, west/edmund, north/32nd st, west/43rd ave, south
32 degrees

Noticed the river this morning. A grayish brown. The sky mostly gray with some sun coming through the clouds. I saw my shadow running ahead of me a few times. Encountered some other runners but everyone was keeping close to their side of the trail. A good run!

Sounds

  • A small wood chipper, sadly yet valiantly attempting to break down big branches in someone’s yard on Folwell
  • The cracking, crackling, creaking caw of a crow. Running right below it, it’s caw sounded loud and immediate and broken. Not sure if I’ve ever heard a scratchy caw like that before
  • The gentle hum and whirr of car wheels on the river road
  • My feet striking the cold pavement. A thud, or was it a thump or a thwack?
  • The sibilant shshshsh of my feet on some debris on the street
  • The clang of a dog collar, almost sounding like sleigh bells. Maybe it was a collar with bells?

Just remembered: Running on Edmund, suddenly the sun appeared, all bright and warm, and some birds began to sing, and my shadow joined me, and it felt like spring until I smelled smoke from someone’s chimney and then it felt like January or February.

Wrote in my journal this morning that I spent the first (almost) six months of the pandemic memorizing and reciting poems and the last (almost) three months writing poems. Now that I’m almost done with my mood ring series, I might return to memorizing poems. I think I will have a rough couple of days once this project is done–feeling lost and in need of something new.

Found a list of fun words to say on twitter. A few I especially like: dictaphone, defenestrate, oblong, windpipe, and asphalt. When my kids were young, as a joke, I told them it was butt-phalt instead of asphalt. Every so often RJP brings it up again. Other words I like? Hards gs: Gorge, gorgeous, gallant or hard cs: cantankerous, cacophony, caterwaul and ms: mystery, miasma, myopic or this word: epiglottis

nov 15/RUN

3.2 miles
river road trail, south/edmund, north
33 degrees/ feels like 20
wind: 17 mph (30 mph gusts)

Blustery this morning. Pale gray sky. Clear path. More people than I expected but not too many. Looking out for others, I forgot to check on the river. Was it blueish gray? Don’t remember hearing any birds or seeing any geese. No dogs or fat tires. I can’t remember thinking about anything except the wind and the random patches of ice on neighborhood sidewalks. Sitting here, writing this at my desk in the front room, I can hear the wind howling. Did I hear it while I was running? I’m not sure.

Thinking about the wind, decided to google “Emily Dickinson wind”. Here’s what I found:

Wind/ Emily Dickinson

Of all the sounds despatched abroad,
There’s not a charge to me
Like that old measure in the boughs,
That phraseless melody

The wind does, working like a hand
Whose fingers brush the sky,
Then quiver down, with tufts of tune
Permitted gods and me.

When winds go round and round in bands,
And thrum upon the door,
And birds take places overhead,
To bear them orchestra,

I crave him grace, of summer boughs,
If such an outcast be,
He never heard that fleshless chant
Rise solemn in the tree,

As if some caravan of sound
On deserts, in the sky,
Had broken rank,
Then knit, and passed
In seamless company.

I love her descriptions of the sound of wind as “old measure in the boughs,” “phraseless melody,” “tuftless tune,” and “fleshless chant.” I think fleshless chant is my favorite. Oh, and I really like the verb thrum. I need to use that in something.

mood: relentless

Working on my mood ring poem about the mood relentless, trying to figure out the last line for the inner ring/scotoma poem. Here’s what I have:

Ten thousand years ago water from melting glaciers began to wear down limestone to form a gorge. Thirty years ago cone cells in my macula began to malfunction to form a scotoma. I am both limestone and water. As I dissolve my slow steady flow carves out a new landscape.

Now I’m wondering if I should use “geography” instead of landscape? Landscape seems more visual than geography–and passive, with the land like a background. Yes, I think I like geography.

As I dissolve my slow steady flow carves out a new geography.